A London of Myths and a Timelord of Magic
by aridancer
Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in the most confusing, dangerous situation they've ever been in. A stuck-up consulting detective, an alien madman with a blue box, a haughty blond king, and a secret world of wizards are the least of their problems. Crossover: Supernatural/Sherlock/Doctor Who/Merlin/Harry Potter. DeanxOC, SamxOC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Welcome to the first installment of the epic journey that I have titled A London of Myths and a Timelord of Magic. This tale interconnects characters from Supernatural, Sherlock, Doctor Who, Merlin, and Harry Potter, with references to other fandoms sprinkled throughout. It also stars two OCs of my own invention: a pair of sisters named Alina and Tracy. My younger sister and I have been brainstorming and writing this story together for about a year now, and it's nowhere near finished yet, but I think that posting it here will help us to organize our thoughts and take each chapter as it comes instead of being overwhelmed by the thought of finishing the whole thing. Once she creates a fanfiction account, I'll give her username a shoutout!

There are a lot of characters involved, so for scenes that involve all or most of them, I know it might get a little tedious; but bear with us. They often split off into smaller groups, which allows for great scene changes and wibbly-wobbly stuff.

For the most part, we've tried to stay as close to canon as possible, which is hard when you're crossing over this many fandoms. Of course there are things and events that don't perfectly align with all of the different timelines and stuff; but that's the beauty of fanfiction- individual interpretation.

I'm going to try to post an update every month. I can't make any promises; but we do have quite a few chapters lined up already. We'll see how it goes!

I hope you enjoy following along with Alina and Tracy's adventure. Rate and review and let us know what you think!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters except Alina and Tracy.

-A

* * *

Morgana Pendragon surveyed the scene before her with approval. She watched as another batch of recruits stepped out of the portal that had summoned them from the far-off future. They were disoriented at first, but soon adjusted to their surroundings and knelt to their mistress.

"Are you ready to serve?" she asked with an air of superiority, though she already knew what their answer would be. After all, these members of the once and future Cult of Le Fay would not have traveled across space and time, with no guarantee of surviving the journey, unless they were completely devoted to her cause.

"Yes, my lady," the girl at their forefront said. "I am honored to be in your presence and service… Some of your other, less _faithful_ followers thought I was crazy, but they were not as devout as I and my companions. We believed that the lady Morgana would someday call on us, as it is written in the ancient tomes, and we answered that call."

"Indeed you did. And you shall be rewarded for it, once your tasks are complete." Morgana sent them to entreat with her sister, and moved on to another matter. She withdrew to her chambers and brought forth a vision of Arthur in her glass. He was on patrol in the woods of Camelot, accompanied by that foolish manservant of his, as well as two knights of Camelot—the lumbering oaf and the handsome, quick-tongued one.

"At last… You will no longer be able to stop me, Arthur Pendragon," she murmured, lips curling into a twisted smirk. "I will send you to a place where you will not last a day. A place from which you can never return: Hell itself." Morgana closed her eyes and began to chant, the very air around her swirling and whirling forcefully. When she opened her eyes, the vision held nothing but the four men's horses, stamping their feet and whickering.

Morgana chuckled darkly. "Goodbye, dear brother."

* * *

"Whoo, baby! Vegas!" Dean hooted as the Impala passed the famous "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada" sign. Sam raised his eyebrows, not quite as excited as his brother to see the endless skyline of flashing lights and flashy casinos.

"We are gonna _clean up_ , man," Dean said cheerily. "It's been too long since I played a good craps table. I'm feelin' lucky, Sammy."

"Whatever you say, Dean. I think I'm just going to turn in early tonight," Sam admitted. "My head's been bothering me."

Dean gave him a disapproving look, but didn't ask any questions. They checked into a cheap motel, and Dean left to hit the nearest casinos. Sam closed the door to their room, which seemed to be sanitary enough, and sat down on one of the beds, pulling out his laptop.

Dean had insisted they make Vegas their next stop, and Sam had readily agreed, even though it wasn't number one on his list of places to go. In fact, he pretty much detested everything about the city; but he had gotten a strange feeling that they needed to be here. And when he got strange feelings, he knew it was better to listen to them than to ignore them.

Sam typed some things into the search engine and hit enter, scanning the results with a practiced eye. After skipping over a few nonsensical entries, he hit a blog entry that read, "A Disappearing Act: Scores of Arthurian Cult Followers Go Missing". The page had links to related news reports, so he opened those in new tabs and started reading.

* * *

Dean woke up with a pounding headache; likely induced by the previous night's over-indulgence of cheap alcohol. He'd made bank, though, so the hangover was worth it.

Sam set down a glass of water, some aspirin, and a bag of fast food on the night-table beside Dean's bed. "Eat up. We have some work to do."

"Work?" Dean squinted against the sunshine that was starting to stream in through the shoddy blinds on the window. "What time is it? I came to Vegas to have fun, not go hunting."

"It's 7:30. And you should know better than anyone that our work is never done."

Dean scarfed down the burgers and took the pills, and soon enough they were off. He'd consented to letting Sam drive; only because the sun was really bright today, and he didn't feel like driving, nor did he know where they were going.

"Where are we headin', anyway? You still haven't told me anything."

"I found a blog that described the strange mass disappearances of hundreds of cult members. They all worship the same entity—Morgan Le Fay."

"You mean, from King Arthur?" Dean asked, wincing as they went over a speed bump.

"Exactly. These people are disappearing without a trace, hundreds at a time—could be demon activity. Or even angelic."

"Sheesh. How many people could possibly be followers of one ugly witch who was ganked a long time ago?" Dean asked, massaging his temples.

"You'd be surprised," Sam said solemnly. "Morgan Le Fay is a prominent historical figure. Apparently, these disappearances started a few weeks ago in London, spread through Europe, and moved on to the Americas. Authorities are baffled, but no one's been investigating too much because this is such a strange, unpredictable group. One reporter said they might be doing some sort of pilgrimage, but I don't think so. If that were the case, there would be some kind of evidence of that many people traveling around the world at the same time, like plane rosters or bus ticket records; and they would eventually turn up somewhere—presumably in England. These people just up and vanished."

"And you got all this from a blog."

"Yep. It was a good read, actually," Sam admitted. "It's written by these two sisters from here in Vegas who call themselves "consulting-detectives-in-training". They've solved several local mysteries and minor crimes over the last year or so, but they're not affiliated with the authorities in any way. That's why I want to talk to them first."

"Wait… Two sisters?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"And they write a blog?"

"Yep."

"Are their names Alina and Tracy?"

Sam glanced over at him. "Yeah, they are. How did you know?"

Dean was silent for a moment before answering. "Okay, so maybe I read their blog occasionally."

"Huh." Sam couldn't help snickering. "Is it because they're hot? Their profile picture _is_ pretty nice."

"No!" Dean scowled at his brother. "…Maybe."

They arrived at the girls' office; a suite in a one-story building that also contained a dentists' office and a hair salon. A small bell tinkled as the brothers walked in, and they stood in the lobby, not quite sure of what to do next. There was no one at the front desk, but beside it was a door that presumably led to the back offices. A voice drifted towards them from back there, as if someone was on the phone. They also heard the faint click-clack of a computer keyboard.

"Let's go in," Dean suggested.

"That would be kind of rude," Sam told him. "We should wait until someone comes to the front desk."

"It doesn't look like this place gets a whole lot of business," Dean pointed out. "It could be hours before that happens. I'm going in." He opened the door and walked forward, ramming straight into someone who was about to walk through the door in the other direction.

"Crap. Sorry," he apologized, taking a step back. His eyebrows went up as he appraised the girl in front of him. She was some sort of Latina mix, with dark brown eyes, light brown skin, and curly black hair. Her nose was a little red, from having crashed into his chest, and she was a head or two shorter than him, but she looked exactly like her online picture… except, she was smiling in her picture. She was kind of frowning up at Dean.

"…Ow," she said after a moment. "It's nice to meet you too, jerk. What kind of person walks into a building's back offices uninvited?"

"Told ya so," Sam muttered from behind him. "Sorry about my brother, miss. I'm Sam, and that's Dean. We wanted to talk to you about your latest case—the mass disappearances. You're Alina, right?"

She chewed her bottom lip for a second, narrowing her eyes at them. "Yes, I suppose I am. Follow me."

Dean found himself struggling to come up with either a better apology or a witty pick-up line. He couldn't think of anything, so he followed after Alina and Sam. She led them to a room near the back, in which another girl was seated, typing away on a PC and recording a video blog entry. When they entered, she turned off the camera.

"Sorry to interrupt, Tracy," Alina said, closing the door. "We have visitors."

Alina's sister, who basically looked like a younger version of her with lighter skin and shorter, lighter brown hair twisted into a braid, nodded thoughtfully. "Are these the two hunters?"

"Yeah. I wasn't sure at first, but Dean, despite his pretty face, showed an immense lack of tact, and Sam was really personable, and really tall, so I figured it must be the Winchester brothers."

Sam and Dean tensed up instantly, their hands inching towards the weapons they had in their belts. "How the hell do you know who we are?" Dean asked gruffly, trying not to dwell on the fact that Alina had said he had a pretty face.

"Relax," Alina told him. "We just do our research. I mean, there _is_ a whole series of books about you. Plus, you tend to be talked about a lot among other hunters, and we've met a few in our day—enough to convince us that the scary things that hide in your closet and under your bed really exist. Look." She pointed at a silver cross pendant around her neck, and Tracy showed them that she was wearing an identical one.

"If you look over by the window, there's a line of salt on the sill," Tracy pointed out. "And there's a Devil's Trap under the carpet, if you care to check. However, I don't think we're going to show you the anti-possession tattoos we have. I mean, we don't know you _that_ well yet."

"I don't even mind if you feel the need to splash us with holy water," Alina said, "but don't you think that would just be a waste? We're not evil, and we're not going to hurt you, so you can calm your trigger-happy fingers. In fact, we'd like to work _with_ you, if you're willing to. You said you were here about the disappearances, right?"

After a moment, the brothers relaxed and nodded at each other. "Fine. What do you know?" Sam asked.

"Have a seat," Tracy said. "This could take a while."


	2. Chapter 2

"Ohhh…" Merlin awoke slowly, squinting up at the sky. He felt like he'd just been through twelve sword-training sessions, and then gotten run over by a vegetable cart. Only sheer determination enabled him to sit up and take in his surroundings.

All right—so he wasn't in the forest anymore. That meant it had to have been some kind of spell, which meant that it was probably Morgana's doing, which was worrisome. It meant that she was more powerful than ever before.

He was in front of a castle, but it wasn't one Merlin had ever seen before. Or, perhaps he was in back of it—the grass he was sitting on was very green and very neat, and there were several fancy hedges and cobblestone paths. The doors leading inside the castle were open, and from what Merlin could see, there were a number of people milling about inside; though they were clothed quite strangely. Perhaps that was just a trick of the light?

Merlin got distracted as his companions began to stir. Guiltily, he realized that he had forgotten they were even with him. He crawled over to Arthur and laid his head on the king's chest, listening to make sure that he was still alive.

"Uh… Merlin," Arthur said in a low voice.

"Yes, sire?" Merlin asked, still studying the king's heartbeat.

"Get off me, you clotpole."

Merlin quickly obliged and stood, glancing over at Gwaine and Percival. They seemed well enough: they were on their feet, brushing themselves off and looking about with dazed expressions.

Arthur also got up and looked around, analyzing the situation. "There's only one explanation for this, men—sorcery. I suggest we get a lay of the land and figure out whether these people are hostile or not." He paused as his stomach loudly interrupted him. "Merlin, go and find us some food."

* * *

"So where the hell should we start, if we want to find some more answers?" Dean asked.

"It sounds like it would be a good idea to go to the source," Sam pointed out. "The disappearances in England are really all clustered in one area of London, whereas the ones that have happened here in America are pretty random. If this is a group movement, it could be that any local cult members are just stragglers, joining their larger groups across the ocean."

"But England's not under our jurisdiction," Dean argued. "There are plenty of hunters in London."

"Clearly, they're not doing a very good job," Tracy interjected.

"Everything here in America could get worse and worse if we don't find out what's going on," Alina added as she sat down at the computer and started tapping away, her eyes on the screen. "Who knows? These cult wackos could start kidnapping regular citizens or murdering them in sacrificial rituals to Morgan Le Fay. They could set fire to churches and summon hostile spirits or even demons. We have no idea how big their group really is. And the biggest questions are: Where are they going? And what will they do when they return?"

"Okay, I get your point," Dean admitted. "But we can't just pop over to London in a magical phone booth or something. And what are we supposed to do when we get there? I don't think we have many connections in London… aside from She-who-must-not-be-named." He grimaced as an image of Bella's face came to mind.

"Uhh… I'm not going to ask who you're talking about; but I do have a solution," Tracy told him. "Alina and I wouldn't be consulting detectives if not for inspiration from a man who happens to live in London, and may be willing to help us, if we approach him in the right way."

"Are you talking about Sherlock?" Sam asked. "I think I've seen his partner's blog."

"Wait, Sherlock _Holmes_?" Dean said incredulously. "Are we talking about the dude from Arthur Conan Doyle's mystery stories?"

"As impressed as I am that you know that, no, we're not," Sam said drily. "There's an actual real-live detective named Sherlock Holmes who lives at 221 B Baker Street in London. His flat-mate is a former army doctor; John Watson. As fantastical as that sounds… remember that we've encountered stranger things."

"Oh, don't worry… I realize that," Dean assured him with a hint of sarcasm. "So, are we seriously, uh… flying out to London, then? Just like that?"

"That's what it looks like." Sam nodded thoughtfully. "We don't have any pressing matters to attend to here, and I'm sure if anything pops up too close to home, Bobby will handle it." He turned to Alina. "Do you two have a way for us to get there?"

"Already taken care of," Alina said, glancing up briefly from the computer screen. "We leave in two days. That's enough time for you to have someone come pick up your Impala, if you don't want to leave it in a shady Vegas motel parking lot," she told Dean, smiling slightly when he raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Observational skills," Tracy explained. "Alina knew what kind of car you had because of your keys; and the way you hold them, plus the marks on your hands from years of working on cars or in a garage, told her that you're a man who cares a great deal about his car. It's all obvious if you look, really. That, and those books about you guys talk about Baby quite a lot."

Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Huh."

"That's a pretty useful skill," Sam acknowledged. "Observational skills, I mean. If we got better at observing and deducing, it would be a whole lot easier to tell when we're facing demons, or shifters, or characters that shouldn't be trusted."

"I could give you a few tips on that, if you want," Tracy said, trying to sound casual, even though she was really hoping he would say yes.

Sam smiled. "That sounds great."

The two brothers bid farewell to Alina and Tracy, after making plans to meet again at the airport in two days' time. They drove back to the motel, fairly quiet except for the sound of Dean's fingers tapping a Led Zeppelin drumbeat onto his thigh.

It wasn't until they went inside their room that they started talking again.

"…Sam."

"Yeah?"

"Did we just agree to fly halfway across the world with two girls we just met to hunt missing members of a cult that worships a long-dead pagan priestess?"

"…Yeah."

Dean sat down on his bed, shaking his head ruefully. "What the hell, man. I don't know what it was, but something about those two made me just want to trust them. Almost too quickly, you know? What if they somehow, I don't know, bewitched us or something?"

"I guess it's possible. Now that you mention it, they were really easy to trust. I felt comfortable, like we had known them forever, and I just wanted to go along with everything they said. And they seemed to know a lot about a lot…We better call Bobby, see if he can do a background check on them." He dialed the number and held his cell phone up to his ear, waiting. Meanwhile, Dean stood up and grabbed a beer from the shoddy semblance of a kitchen area.

"Hey, Bobby? Yeah, it's me. …Well, Dean and I are working a case, and it might involve flying to London. But, we started working with these girls that seem just a little too good to be true. Have you heard of them? …Tracy and Alina Collins. …I guess you could call them detectives. …Yeah, a blog."

Dean flopped down on his bed, watching intently as he listened to Sam's half of the conversation.

"…Oh, they do? So they are. …Of course we will. We'll let you know more as soon as possible. And yeah, your lot would be perfect. Thanks again." He pressed the "End Call" button and slid his phone back into his pocket. "Well, their story checks out. Apparently, Bobby's even heard of them from some circles of hunters, but they've never met in person. I guess the Collins sisters are good friends of Jo and Ellen Harvelle, too."

"He say anything else?" Dean asked, taking a swig of his beer.

"Just that he'll fly over, come get the Impala from the airport and drive it back to his place, but we owe him one. Oh, and that we should watch our asses, regardless of how 'pretty and witty' the girls may seem. Just because they're not supernatural creatures, doesn't mean they can't have their own motives or personal objectives that we don't know about."

"That's true," Dean mused. "Well, I'm going to have to drink a lot more if I'm going to be on a plane for 5 hours."

Sam chuckled awkwardly. "Uh, Dean?"

"What?"

"A flight from Las Vegas to London takes approximately 10 hours. Sorry."

Dean scowled. "Son of a bitch."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean walked quickly down the aisle, making a beeline for his seat. Takeoff was still a while away, but he didn't want to run the risk, however remote, of being on his feet while the plane was in the air. In his haste, Dean bumped roughly against a guy who had dark hair, a large nose, and distinctly Arabic features, but the elder Winchester didn't stop to apologize and kept going. Sam, Alina, and Tracy, were following close behind.

"Sorry, sir; my brother doesn't like flying," Sam apologized, as the trio made a more graceful entrance than Dean.

"That's quite all right," the guy assured him as he took his own seat beside a short guy quietly muttering the words to a song; the lyrics to which were apparently "You all, everybody!" over and over again. Sam and the girls caught up with Dean, who was already sitting in the aisle seat of his row; buckled in and looking slightly green. Alina stowed her bag in the overhead compartment above where Dean was sitting.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He'd assumed that Sam would be sitting with him.

"I want to do some research with Tracy during the flight," Sam explained. "We're going to update each other's info based on what we've each collected."

"Disappointed?" Alina asked, as she slid past Dean into the window seat next to him. "I promise I won't get upset if you barf on me."

"No, I just… I guess I'm the last to know the plan around here," Dean huffed, shooting a look at Sam, who had suddenly found an increased amount of interest in his overhead compartment latch. Tracy stifled a chuckle and sat down in her seat, across the aisle from Dean and Alina.

Alina glanced at Dean. "Are you humming Metallica?"

Dean nodded. "It helps me calm down. I didn't know you liked Metallica…"

"Classic rock is the best kind of rock," she said, humming along with him for a few measures. Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed—even though he was still fretting about his Impala. He knew it would be safe in Bobby's lot, but it was going to be hard to be away from his baby for so long.

* * *

They had been flying for some time. Sam and Tracy were tapping away on their laptops, occasionally pausing to make a comment on something. They didn't notice it, but they kept copying each other's body language, like leaning their chins on the same hands, or tilting their heads in the same direction.

Dean, who was feeling slightly better after two glasses of airline booze and four sleeping pills, sat in companionable silence with Alina. He'd noticed before that she had dark circles under her eyes, and wanted to give her a chance to fall asleep, so he didn't say much.

"I can't ever sleep when I have to get up early the next day and do something exciting or important," Alina said, as if she heard what he was thinking. Not even bothering to cover her mouth, Alina yawned loudly. Her hand went to the window-shade and Dean tensed. He thought for a split second about asking her to not open it—after all, they were thousands of feet in the air, and seated right behind the damn wing—but he realized that would make him sound like a pansy, so he just clenched his jaw.

The shade went up, and Dean relaxed a little. It was dark, so you could barely see the plane's wing, and there was nothing discernible below it at all. Alina was staring up at the stars, visible through the semi-transparent clouds that drifted lazily by. The moonlight was streaming onto her tired face, lighting the angles of her caramel-toned cheekbones.

"Beautiful," she murmured, mostly to herself.

"Yeah, beautiful," Dean agreed; but he wasn't talking about the stars. Alina mumbled something unintelligible. "Wha—?" Dean asked, but she was already asleep. The plane shuddered as turbulence hit, and Dean found himself gripping the armrest. It took him a second to notice that Alina's hand was resting on his armrest, so he was basically holding her hand under his.

The plane creaked and shuddered some more. The bumps made Alina's head shift away from the window and land against on Dean's shoulder. Dean felt his stomach flip, and knew it wasn't just because of the turbulence. He glanced up when the intercom dinged on.

"This is your captain, Frank J. Lapidus. Sorry for the disturbance, folks; we're passing over Winchester, Hampshire, and I think we just hit a really large air pocket. Nothing to worry about, though. It should be smooth sailing from now on, so enjoy your flight, and thank you for choosing Oceanic Airlines."

Dean didn't move Alina's head from his shoulder; partly because he didn't want to bother her, but also because he really, really didn't want her to move away. As if she knew exactly what he wanted, Alina nuzzled closer, sighing lightly. The puff of soft breath made the hairs on Dean's neck stand up, and he gulped when Alina grabbed his arm and, and _cuddled_ with it, as if it were a stuffed animal or something. Smiling ruefully, he reached over her with his free arm and pulled the shade back down.

* * *

"Hang on, Ponds!" the Doctor cried, stumbling about as he tried to stabilize the various levers of his TARDIS. "There's just been some sort of massive disturbance in the time-space continuum, and the TARDIS is being pulled directly towards it. There's no telling where we might end up!"

"I hope it's somewhere exciting!" Amy exclaimed. "We've been cooped up for too long in that apartment."

"Not that we're not grateful for it," Rory added pointedly. "In fact, it's a lovely place! We've just fixed up the wallpaper in the drawing room—" His words were drowned out by the groaning, creaking sounds that the TARDIS made as it landed. All three passengers were thrown to the ground, and then all was still.

"Wow! That was a smoother landing than I thought it'd be," the Doctor mused. "Let's see…" He sprang up and bounded over to the control panel, punching buttons and flipping switches. "Ah. Camelot!"

"Camelot?!" Amy got up quickly and pranced over to the Doctor. "Ooh. Now this is more like it."

Rory stood shakily and leaned against one of the railings. "Camelot? As in, King Arthur and the Round Table?"

"Whoops. Not exactly," the Doctor said, sonic-ing something or other. "We're in the modern-day location of where Camelot _used_ to be. Winchester, Hampshire!"

"Winchester? I think I've got cousins here," Amy said thoughtfully. "It's too bad. I was hoping to meet Merlin or something. Bet we'd get on well."

"Ah, Merlin. He's a funny fellow!" the Doctor said nostalgically. "He's got quite the beard. I've never been able to grow one like his."

"You know Merlin?" Rory sighed, holding his stomach. "Wait, of _course_ you know Merlin. I suppose you know Shakespeare, too."

"Yep! He's quite the character. I may have accidentally said a few words around him that didn't exist yet in his time and wound up in his work. Clever old boy." The Doctor flipped his sonic expertly and headed towards the doors. "Shall we?"

Amy grabbed Rory by the arm, and the three of them exited the phone booth. They were outside of a beautiful castle that was open to the public. After gaining entry, they milled about while the Doctor sonic-ed everything within reach.

"Ooh, look! The Round Table," Amy said, sidling up to it. "Just think… the actual King Arthur sat at this table and had his councils and meetings and stuff."

"It says here that this isn't the original," Rory said, reading off of a nearby plaque. "This was constructed centuries after King Arthur's reign."

"…Well, it's still a _table_ that's _round_ ," Amy grumbled. They looked up as the Doctor sped by.

"I'm getting really strong readings in this direction!" he called to them, darting through onlookers and tourists.

"What sort of readings?" Amy yelled after him, hurrying to follow. Rory sighed and followed along as well.

"Oh, you know- the wibbly wobbly sort!" The Doctor's sonic screwdriver led them to the back end of the castle and outside into the garden. The only really interesting thing about it was that there was a group of medieval re-enactors decked out in full chainmail and everything, grouped around a bench on the far side.

"Oh, look, Rory! Actors! Maybe they'll let us take a photo," Amy said, whipping out her phone.

"Maybe we should just let them do their thing," Rory protested weakly, but Amy was already off.

"Amy's got the right idea," the Doctor said, holding up his screwdriver. "The readings increase in the direction she's going! Let's follow her and see."

Rory obliged, almost running into a young man with dark hair who was holding a strange assortment of hot dogs, apples, and crisps. "Sorry, mate."

"Sorry," the lad echoed, smiling apologetically. He hurried past Rory and went for the three men Amy was chatting with.

"I just want a photo," she was saying. "With my phone. Or do you guys charge for photos?"

"I… am sorry," Arthur told her. "I don't quite understand what you mean. If you require our assistance, we will gladly give it."

"It is our duty to help damsels in distress; especially pretty ones like you. I've never seen hair like yours," Gwaine said with a winning smile. "It's like the flames of a sunset."

"I'm not a damsel in distress, thank you very much," Amy retorted. "Although, I suppose you're quite pretty yourself, if I must say. Can I have a photo or not?"

Merlin reached them just as Rory and the Doctor did. "Sorry, Arthur, this was all I could find without having to pay for it." He held up a crumpled bag of potato crisps, two apples—one of which had a bite out of it—and a hot dog in a paper cup. "Don't ask where I got them."

"It's fine, Merlin." Arthur looked at the Doctor. "Can I ask who you are, sir, and why you're pointing that wand at me?" Behind him, Gwaine and Percival were reaching slowly for their swords.

"Oh, don't worry—it's a screwdriver, not a wand. It only fixes things. And scans things, of course. Though I can't figure out why it's going crazy every time I point it at you four! That's why I'm pointing it at you. He said your name was Arthur, right? Artie, I'm the Doctor. Can I call you Artie?"

"I…" Arthur was at a loss for words.

"Oh! You're meant to be King Arthur, aren't you?" Rory exclaimed. "Right. And I suppose they're Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot."

"It's Gwaine, not Ga-wain," Gwaine said warily, with a hand at his sword hilt. "And this is Percival. We made no mention of Lancelot. How do you know of him? Speak quickly."

"Well, hey, no need to get confrontational, Gwaine, old boy!" the Doctor insisted. He turned around and tilted his head. "Did he say your name was Merlin?"

"…Yes." Merlin blinked uncomfortably as the Doctor peered closely at him. He glanced at his sonic, then back at Merlin.

"By jove, it _is_ you, isn't it?! You look great for your age. I rather like the long beard and robe ensemble, though. It's a little more _you._ "

"Sorry… what?"

"So, I take it that I _can't_ have a photo, then," Amy said, rolling her eyes. "Fine." She put her phone back in her pocket and folded her arms.

"Oh, Amy, this is wonderful!" the Doctor exclaimed. "They're real. It's the real them—it's really them."

Rory's mouth fell open. "You mean… the _real_ King Arthur, Merlin, and two of his knights. Why are they here, exactly?"

Arthur straightened up a little and regained his composure. "I am Arthur, King of Camelot. This is my servant Merlin, and Sirs Gwaine and Percival. Doctor, we would be indebted to you if you would explain what land we are in, and how to return to our own lands, if you have such knowledge. We were sent here by some sort of dark sorcery, and find ourselves in need of aid."


	4. Chapter 4

"Maybe we should stop… it's getting pretty hot," Tracy said.

"Huh?" Sam asked, distracted. When the plane had hit that turbulence over Winchester, his headache had returned; but he didn't want to make a big deal of it.

"I just realized how hot my laptop is right now. And yours too, I'm guessing," she said, gesturing to the two PCs. "I don't want them to overheat too badly."

"Oh. Right." Sam nodded and shut down his computer, placing it back in his laptop case.

"So." Tracy began, after doing the same with her own laptop.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, tilting his head slightly.

"What's your story?"

"Uh, well… Me and Dean go from place to place, hunting supernatural things, sleeping in motels… that sort of thing," Sam said with a shrug.

"You say that like it doesn't matter."

"Does it?"

"Of course it does. I've heard a lot about you two… what you do is so much _more_ than that. You travel around, fighting monsters, avenging friends… like swashbuckling heroes, saving damsels and kids and other civilians. Mourning losses, celebrating victories—waking up each morning knowing that the world is that much safer, simply because you exist and you care enough to do something worthwhile with your life." Tracy's face reddened, and she tugged on the end of her braid absentmindedly.

"Wow. You make us sound awesome," Sam said.

"Well… you are," Tracy mumbled.

"Thanks."

" … Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What about… you know… _before_ you guys hunted creatures and stuff?"

"Oh." Sam went silent for a while. Tracy began to wonder if he was going to answer at all, but finally, he spoke again.

"When I was six months old… my mother died. A demon killed her, right there in my nursery. And it did something to me—something unnatural. It messed with my mind. My soul, even." Sam paused, glancing down. "Dean was just a kid, seven or eight. Our dad trained us to be Hunters; taught us everything we know. He's gone now… the same damn demon got him too."

"Oh, Sam," Tracy said quietly. She knew the boys' general background from the book series, but it was different hearing it in Sam's own words.

"Before he… died, I had a falling-out with him. I went to college, sort of gave up the hunting life for a while… it was nice. I met a girl, you know. Jessica: blonde, gorgeous, funny. We dated for more than two years before…" Sam's voice broke. "The same way my mom died, the same bastard yellow-eyed demon. It happened… in my room. Again." Sam was almost crying now, and Tracy suddenly regretted asking him anything personal.

"I'm sorry." Tracy patted Sam's shoulder lightly.

"No, it's okay." Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "What about you?"

"Me? Well, actually…Alina and I were both adopted. We were lucky enough not to be separated. We never knew our father, and our mother died shortly after dropping us off at the children's home. Our adoptive parents are wonderful, though."

Sam nodded. "What do they do for a living?"

Tracy smiled softly. "They live in Chicago now, but they're originally from Bath, England. Our father is a postman, and our mother is a medieval studies professor at a local university."

Sam chuckled.

"What is it?" Tracy asked, curious.

"Oh… nothing. I guess I was just noticing that you said "post" instead of "mail", and "university" instead of "college". It was kind of cute."

Tracy glanced away with an embarrassed grin. "I guess my British is showing."

* * *

Chuck Shurley woke with a start; as if someone had jabbed a red hot poker into his arm, or somewhere even more unpleasant. He raced over to his computer and turned it on, tapping a beat nervously on his thigh while he waited. Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. Finally, the screen glowed to life, and Chuck started typing away. His fingers flew over the keyboard of their own volition, while Chuck shook his head and muttered to himself.

"I can't… No. That's not even possible! What the…" He kept on typing, late into the night, and all through the morning.

It only took him a few short days to spit out the rest of it, and soon he had enough material to publish a whole book if he wanted to. Something was holding him back, though—it wasn't quite the right time yet.

"Time… Yes. Time." Chuck rubbed at the bags under his eyes and hastily scrawled a title onto the first page of several hundreds. It read, A LONDON OF MYTHS AND A TIMELORD OF MAGIC.

* * *

"We're finally here!" Tracy crowed as they left the airport, lugging just one bag each, except for Dean, who just had his phone and wallet—Alina carried a large purse, and Sam and Tracy had their laptop bags. "I've always wanted to see London," the younger Collins sister said contentedly.

"Yeah, it's peachy," Dean grumbled, holding his stomach with one hand. "Where are we goin' again?"

"221B Baker Street," Alina replied, holding up a miniature map of the town. "We could walk, but it'd take about an hour to get there."

Sam shrugged. "I guess we can spring for a cab. The sooner we get there, the better, right?"

"Might as well." Alina whistled shrilly and waved over one of the traditional little black taxi cars that was passing by. Sam raised his eyebrows at Tracy, and she grinned, amused by how surprised he was at Alina's whistling skills.

They clambered into the cab together and got dropped off in no time. Sam fumbled for a second with his freshly converted currency, but he managed to figure it out.

"…This is it?" Dean asked, squinting up at their destination. "I was expecting something a little more, I dunno… impressive."

"He's a consulting detective, not the Queen of England," Alina teased lightly. "Come on." She straightened the brass knocker on the door, which had been askew, and tapped it four times. A minute or so passed before it swung open.

"Oh, are you here to see Sherlock?" an older lady with short hair asked. "Go right on up. You're lucky you came today. Yesterday, he was in one of his moods. Wouldn't even let me in with his tea and biscuits!"

Alina, who had been prepared with a detailed spiel about why they should be let in and why Sherlock should see them, nodded slowly. "Uh… Okay. Thank you, Miss…"

"Mrs. Hudson," she said, waving them in. The foursome ascended the stairs and entered the upstairs flat, which had its front door wide open.

BLAM!

A gunshot echoed through the room. In an instant, Sam and Dean shoved the girls behind them and had their own guns drawn. They were glad they had them, even though the only way they'd been able to take them on the plane was by smuggling them into the cargo hold; and _that_ had been a major pain, but it was worth the trouble.

A middle-aged man with graying hair poked his head in from the adjacent room—presumably the sitting room—which was where the gunshot had sounded. "Oh, for… Sherlock," he sighed, clearly exasperated. "I told you not to leave the door open if you're going to shoot the wall all day. We have potential clients in here."

He took a step closer to them, and the boys cocked their guns. "Don't get any closer, chucklehead," Dean said menacingly.

"Whoa. Okay, you can all just relax," the man told them. "I'm John Watson, Sherlock's—erm—I'm a doctor."

"What exactly is going on here?" Sam asked.

"Oh, it's, uh… It's just Sherlock. He does that sometimes."

"It's okay, guys," Tracy assured them. "They're not going to hurt us."

" _Physically,_ no," John muttered, rolling his eyes. "Er, no, really, she's right. You can put the guns away. Do you have a case for us?"

"Not exactly," drawled a deeper, slightly monotonous voice. "They _are_ the case." Sherlock entered from the next room over. He was tall, about Dean's height, with tousled curly black hair and piercing eyes that shifted from pale green to icy blue. "Oh, calm yourselves. If I wanted to shoot you, you would already either be writhing on the floor in pain, bleeding out slowly and torturously, or dead in a pool of congealed blood, depending on how much I think you deserve to suffer."

Sam and Dean were still tensed up, with their weapons drawn, so Alina sighed and stepped in front of them, followed by Tracy. The brothers grimaced at each other and reluctantly put away their firearms.

"That's better. Now we can talk like civilized beings! …Well, _some_ of us can, anyway." Sherlock's gaze darted over the group as he analyzed each of them in turn. "Oh, yes. This should be very interesting. Cancel all of my other appointments for today, John."

He scoffed. "Sherlock, I'm not your secretary. And you don't _have_ any other appointments for today."

"Sorry to start off on the wrong foot," Tracy began. "We should introduce ourselves properly."

"Tracy Collins," Sherlock said automatically. "And your older sister Alina. I'm going to have a field day telling _those_ two chumps—" he indicated to Sam and Dean—"all about themselves. But for now, I'll focus on you girls."

Sam and Dean looked quite put off about being called 'chumps', but they didn't press the issue.

"And before you ask," Sherlock continued, cutting off whatever Alina was about to say, "I know who you are because I've seen your blog."

"You have?" Alina asked, incredulous. "Wow. That's—I mean, that means a lot."

"And, therefore, I know that you've been investigating the same case that Watson and I have recently taken," Sherlock went on. "The question is whether or not you are worth my time. We'll start with an assessment of your skills. What can you tell me about myself that is not already available as public knowledge?"

"Well, it'll be hard to point out anything about your personality and quirks that aren't already obvious to everyone here," Tracy began immediately. "But I can tell you that you woke up late this morning. You had Earl Grey tea with eggs benedict for breakfast. Your breath smells faintly of the tea, and there's a toasted crumb of English muffin on your lapel. You used a spoon instead of a fork… a fork would leave a yolky residue in parallel lines on someone who wasn't fully awake while eating, but it's obvious you used a spoon because there are distinctive traces of yolk in the corners of your mouth, rather than on the center of your lips."

Alina smiled and continued where her sister had left off without missing a beat. _"_ Because you were still half-asleep when you ate, you touched the kettle before it had cooled, but not long enough for a serious burn. That's why the pads of your thumb and first two fingers are slightly pink and shiny. And, even though your posture suggests you tend to sleep flat on your back, you mostly slept on your left side last night; hence the swoop of your hair in the opposite direction, from having carelessly brushed your fingers through it in a lackluster attempt to get it flat. Oh, and you haven't showered today. That much is fairly obvious."

Tracy raised her eyebrows. "Shall I go on?"

"No need," Sherlock said, ignoring John's open-mouthed look of astonishment. "Hm. You have potential. I suppose I can hear you out."

* * *

"I see," the Doctor said, nodding sagely. "I think I know exactly how to help, Artie. This might be a bit difficult to comprehend, but I happen to have a ship that allows me to travel through space and time. I can pop you all back home to Camelot and be back here in time for tea."

Arthur studied the Doctor for a moment. Unnerved, Gwaine pulled him aside, followed closely by Merlin and Percival.

"Do we want to trust him, sire?" Gwaine asked in a low voice. "This doctor fellow claims that he can send us back to where we belong, but that would almost certainly mean that he is a sorcerer of some kind."

"He seems rather… odd," Percival mused, glancing back over at the trio of time-travelers. "He does not seem particularly dangerous; merely odd." The Doctor saw him looking, smiled, and waved in a friendly manner.

"Maybe magic is the only answer. If it can return us to Camelot, then it can't be all bad," Merlin put in hopefully.

Arthur shook his head. "All magic comes with a price; but perhaps Merlin is right. We must decide whether this Doctor's price is fair enough, or if we can find some other passage back to our realm."

"He said that we had been displaced in both time and space," Gwaine recalled. "I'm not sure I fully understand that concept, but I think that the only kind of ship that could possibly assist us is one of a magical nature."

"But the Doctor made no mention of a price," Percival reminded them. "He may genuinely wish to help us."

"Or he could be deceiving us. We'll at least go with him to appraise his vessel," Arthur said decisively. "If they try anything, we'll be ready." His hand went to the hilt of his sword.

"Uh… No offense, but I think if they tried anything, even Merlin could handle them," Gwaine said, chuckling. "Well, the men, at least. That lass looks like she's got a mean right hook."

Merlin did his best to ignore the friendly jab and rummaged in the bag of crisps he was still holding, tasting one with curiosity. It was surprisingly salty and greasy, yet delicious. He would have to get more at some point—a new, fresh, unopened bag would be ideal.

Arthur led them back over to the three travelers. "We have decided to accept your offer," he said gallantly. "Lead us to your ship."

"Splendid! You won't regret it at all," the Doctor assured them as he led them through the castle and out into the front courtyard, where the TARDIS was waiting patiently. "Here she is. Beautiful, isn't she?"

Gwaine and Percival gave each other a look, and Merlin squinted at it, wondering if the rest of it was being cloaked by some sort of magical illusion. Only Arthur's face betrayed nothing.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking," Amy said. "But you're in for a surprise. It might be a bit shocking at first, though, so I'll be here to catch you if you swoon."

"If anyone swoons, I'll be the one doing the catching," Gwaine assured her with a wink. Rory rolled his eyes and opened the door to the police box, hoping that maybe they could 'accidentally' leave behind the dashing knight with the witty one-liners.

"All aboard!" the Doctor exclaimed, tooting an imaginary train whistle—not that the knights would understand the reference. The whole group piled into the TARDIS, and their reactions were a bit of a letdown to the Doctor, who had been hoping they would be much more excited.

Arthur had braced himself for the worst kinds of magic imaginable, so he was actually relieved to see that, though it was designed in an era he knew nothing about, and was larger than the exterior, the inside of the ship wasn't strikingly horrific or terrifying in any way.

Merlin was impressed, but he just assumed that everything was magical, and that the Doctor was actually a warlock who was trying to pass of his magic as some kind of new technology. Percival was looking around, but seemed otherwise unfazed; and Gwaine let out a long, low whistle as he took it all in. He noticed that Amy was peering at him expectantly.

"Looks like I won't be fainting this time," he told her, smiling broadly. "But, Merlin, I'm here if you need me."

"Harhar," Merlin laughed sarcastically, as Amy and Percival chuckled. He glanced around him, feeling a slight chill all of a sudden. Rory was still shooting dirty looks at Gwaine, and Arthur was still surveying the interior of the TARDIS, while the Doctor ran around and punched in Camelot's coordinates.

"Right-O! Camelot, here we come," the Doctor cried out. He flipped a final switch, and the ship was off, hurtling through time and space. "Oh, right… Don't forget to hang on!"

The passengers all reached out to hold onto something, to avoid being thrown onto the floor—which is what happened to Merlin, who hadn't grabbed onto anything quickly enough. "Oof!" He rolled to his feet and managed to get a firm grip on the stair railing that seemed to lead to a lower floor, tugging at his scarf in relief.

Only, his usual red neckerchief wasn't there. "Huh?" He felt around, making sure that it hadn't slid around backwards or slipped down into his jacket. It wasn't anywhere on the floor, either. Saddened, Merlin decided he would look for it later, when the journey wasn't quite so bumpy.

"Here we are!" The Doctor flipped on the brakes and flung open the TARDIS doors to reveal- a simple, modern-day British storefront that said "Speedy's Café" in bright red letters.

"Uh, Doctor… Last time I checked, Camelot didn't have cafés," Rory said hesitantly. Amy went past him and hopped outside.

"We're in London," she stated. "Present-day London. That can't be right."

"No, it most certainly cannot be right," Arthur reiterated, looking at the Doctor. "Have you deceived us, sir?"

"No, of course not! She must be on the fritz; I bet it was the massive influx of time energy that brought you all here in the first place. Not to worry, though, she should be fine if I just—oh, no!" The Doctor stepped back as the TARDIS control panel started smoking. "She's really not in a good mood right now. Not at all. But we needn't worry—once she figures out what's wrong, she'll be up and running in a jiffy. Maybe I should find some tea… Tea usually helps."

"Tea," Percival repeated, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, tea! Excellent idea, Jeff! Amy, let's go and find some tea. The rest of you should probably stay here—no telling what sort of trouble four citizens of Camelot could get into in twenty-first century London. Rory, keep them company. Back in a mo!" He went outside to join Amy, and the TARDIS doors closed behind him.

Merlin blinked. "Well… What do we do now?"

"My first choice would be to take off all of this chainmail," Gwaine voted. "It's getting a bit too sweaty in here for my taste."

"I suppose we can do that for now," Arthur agreed. "But keep your swords with you. Don't forget that there is danger all around us."

"Actually, it's pretty safe in the TARDIS," Rory pointed out; but nobody seemed to be listening to him.


	5. Chapter 5

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

"All right, I'm coming," Mrs. Hudson said, flustered. She opened the door to find a man with a rather large chin and a young woman with bright red hair. "Oh, goodness, more of you. He certainly has made a few friends today! You can go right upstairs, they're just starting on tea. But I'm not going back out to get more biscuits, mind you! I have other things to take care of besides running errands for my tenants."

"Oh, not to worry. We brought our own provisions," the Doctor said, whipping a banana out from behind his back. "It sounds like you've got a party going on upstairs—and I never come to a party without a banana."

Mrs. Hudson watched bemusedly as they tromped up the stairs. She couldn't help casting an appraising glance at them. Such a strapping young couple!

Upstairs, John was pouring the last few cups of tea when a strange pair strode in. "Who let you in?" he asked, perplexed. "And who are you?"

"Sorry to intrude! I'm the Doctor; I'm with Scotland Yard," the Doctor said brightly, flashing his psychic paper at them. "This is my assistant Detective Inspector. Our, er, vehicle broke down outside."

"Then why don't you call a cab?" Dean suggested pointedly. "We're a little busy here."

"Wait, can I see that?" asked Tracy, ignoring Dean completely.

"Of course!" The Doctor handed over his thin brown leather wallet with a flourish. Tracy squinted closely at the paper, flipped it over, and frowned. "It's…blank." She passed it to Alina, who shook her head.

"Tracy, what are you talking about? It says right here, Scotland Yard Special Services, codename 'The Doctor'," Alina said, tapping the paper with her finger for emphasis.

"I swear that paper is blank," Tracy insisted. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and peered over Alina's shoulder, making a quick analysis. Then he strode forward so that he was in the center of the room. John grimaced. _"Here we go,"_ he thought to himself, rolling his eyes.

"Well, of course it doesn't say anything. It's a low level perception filter, obviously. I'd imagine it takes most people years of training to be able to see past it… And people other than myself and a select few individuals rarely have the mental capacity to do so," Sherlock said curtly.

"Sherlock!" John whispered, shooting him a disapproving glance.

"What?" Sherlock asked. "It was clearly a compliment to possibly the only person in this room whose brain functions on a level similar to my own," Sherlock answered in what he probably thought was an explanatory tone. The tips of Tracy's ears turned pink, but she didn't say anything.

"It may have been a compliment to her, but it was an insult to the rest of us," Sam put in. John gave Sherlock a meaningful glance, but the detective merely shrugged.

Dean tugged the wallet from Alina's hands to get a look at it for himself and scowled. It was most definitely not blank—there was a bunch of cramped typing all over it with a small picture of the Doctor in the upper right corner. Dean elbowed his brother and handed him the wallet.

"What do you think, Sammy?" he asked under his breath. Sam glanced down at it.

"Seems legit," he said, shrugging noncommittally. "It could be a fake, of course; but that paper's not blank."

"Oh, so you two can see it? Then it _must_ be real. Let's take the poorly strung together words of two American troglodytes instead of the logic and knowledge of a brilliant professional consulting detective," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Okay, _that_ was a bit much, Sherlock," John scolded him. He hurriedly changed the subject, wanting to avoid a confrontation—Dean looked like he was ready to tackle Sherlock.

Beside him, Alina was squinting at the paper. Now that she was concentrating harder, the text began to fade away until the entire thing was blank. "It _is_ blank… Fascinating. I've never seen anything like this before."

"All right; if you're not Scotland Yard, will you at least tell us your names?" John inquired.

The Doctor was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish—he was clearly impressed by the fact that at least two of the people in the room—three, if he counted the older girl who thought she had seen words before taking a closer look—could see past the psychic paper. "…Right! Well, we were just popping in to see if we could have a spot of tea, anyway, while we wait for the TARDIS to repair herself."

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Doctor?" Amy said playfully.

"Of course! Everyone, meet Amy. Amy Pond. I love saying that—Poooonnndd."

"Nice to meet you," John said pleasantly. "I suppose it's our turn, then. I'm John Watson. You've met Sherlock Holmes, and these are Sam and Dean Winchester, and Alina and Tracy Collins."

"Wait, isn't anybody else bothered by the fact that they lied about who they are?" Dean asked, perplexed.

Sam shrugged. "It's not like we don't do that all the time, Dean. And, well, they seem harmless enough."

"That still doesn't mean we have time to give them a 'spot o' tea'," Dean grumbled. "We have business to attend to."

"This _is_ my place, after all," Sherlock interjected. "I think I have a say in who gets a spot of tea or not. And your business can wait… because these two travelers are a lot more interesting than you are right now."

"Thank you!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Er. Care to elaborate?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him with an expert's gaze. John threw up his hands in defeat and went back to the kitchen to put another kettle on.

"You're old, a lot older than you look," Sherlock began. "Your physique says that you're young, but your eyes betray you. Those are eyes that have seen everything… In fact, they've seen too much. Judging by the amount of sexual tension between the two of you, you've been together in a minor way at least once. But Amy was the one who kissed you, and you didn't quite reciprocate, which is made quite obvious by the icy look she is currently giving me. You met her when she was young, and although you consider her to be a beautiful person, you also see her as one of your closest friends, and not as a romantic interest in any way whatsoever. Your best friend, even. She's looked up to you for a long time, and still does. That kind of hero worship can often be mistaken for what the common folk would call love. However, she's married, and hasn't tried to make another move since that first time." Sherlock paused for breath.

"Wait, how'd you know I was married to someone other than the Doctor?" Amy asked, looking slightly angry, but begrudgingly impressed.

Sherlock smirked. "You are wearing a ring, the Doctor is not, and you seem like the kind of headstrong wife who would never let her husband go around without his ring on, regardless of whether you were wearing your own or not. Pond is not your wedded name, which is most likely something boring, like Smith or Williams, and you bullied your husband into letting you keep your maiden name. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if you forced him to take _your_ last name instead."

"How'd you know that Pond isn't my married name?" Amy inquired. She was a little unnerved at how much this man knew, but she couldn't help being a slight bit intrigued as well.

"When the Doctor introduced you, he didn't say Ms., Mrs., or Miss; and since I deduced that you are married and headstrong, that tells me that Pond is your name and no one else's unless you say so," Sherlock replied.

"Well, I didn't bully or force Rory to do anything," Amy grumbled.

"You have a child, don't you?" Sherlock noted. "Only one; and before you ask, I know that because of your eyes: you have the eyes of a mother. But, seeing as the Doctor's heart rate is increasing, the glands in his palms are producing an excessive amount of perspiration, and his face is now becoming flushed, I see that your kid is a girl, and they are romantically involved." Sherlock finished, smiling smugly. "Although, that last bit is quite disturbing, seeing as how any child of yours would have to be no more than 7 or 8 years old."

"What in…" John had walked in a few moments ago and heard the part about the Doctor romancing a child under the age of 10. He almost dropped the pot of tea he was holding. All around the room, everyone's faces were disgusted and disturbed as they glared at the Doctor.

"Wow!" the Doctor said after Sherlock was done. "You're quite the intelligent fellow, aren't you? I suppose you've found us out. But if I told you the truth, I'm not sure you would believe me. And, er, don't look at me like that. River is most definitely of legal age. The whole thing is very… wibbly wobbly."

"Wait… You wouldn't happen to be a time-traveling alien, would you?" Sam questioned.

"Actually, yes," the Doctor said. "How did you know?"

"I think I've come across some urban myths about you online."

"I've seen those websites, too," Tracy said. "I had a hunch that there might be some truth to them—I was planning to do more research, but I got completely distracted by the Le Fay cult member disappearances."

"Le Fay? As in, the cult of Morgan Le Fay?" Amy asked. "Okay, it can't be a coincidence that King Arthur and his knights got dropped into our time period at the same time that something strange is going on here with followers of an Arthurian sorceress."

"King Arthur in our time period?" John asked, perplexed. "What are you on about?"

"Wait, this is ridiculous," Dean interrupted loudly, shaking his head. "Cults that follow a long-dead witch, I can handle. Detective dudes that are named after characters from a mystery novel… that's fine, too. But a time-traveling alien child molester? King Arthur and his merry men? Paper that looks blank to some people, but isn't to others? I think this is all a load of crap."

"No need to get your panties in a bunch," Amy admonished. "And River's no kid. She can take care of herself." Dean glowered at her.

"All right; I think we all need to calm down," the Doctor said. "I can't do this to all of you, but perhaps if I show one or two of you, the rest of you will go along with it." He walked over and banged his forehead against Sherlock's. They both cried out in pain simultaneously.

"General background," the Doctor said, somewhat breathlessly. He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and whacked him again. "Gaaahh! Right, then. Current events! That should do it." The Doctor's face went slightly red and he sat unsteadily on the edge of an armchair.

"Uh, what was that all about?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. The Doctor didn't answer him and instead lurched shakily in his direction. Sam took a hesitant step back, but the Doctor stumbled past him and grabbed Tracy by her shoulders. Alina made a small noise of protest as the Doctor knocked his head against Tracy's with a loud thwack. Tracy inhaled sharply through her nose, but made no other sound or comment. The Doctor head-butted her once more.

"Aaagh! I said I would never do that again! Pond! Don't let me do that _ever_ again. If I even _think_ about doing that, punch me in the face…wait no, you're more of a slapper. Just slap me; that ought to do the trick." Amy raised her eyebrows as the Doctor plopped down heavily in another armchair, holding his head in both hands. It looked like he wouldn't be getting up for a little while.

"Hey, now I was fine when you were smacking that skinny British prick; hell, you beat me to it—but why'd you have to knock heads with the girl?" Dean asked sharply, as one of his hands casually drifted towards the gun he had in one of his pockets.

"Dean, hold on a second, you don't understand," Tracy said, eyeing his gun warily.

"Well, of course he doesn't, he's no more than a common homunculus." Sherlock drawled lazily.

"What the hell did you just call me?" Dean asked angrily.

"What's the matter? Disproportionate ears having trouble hearing? Underdeveloped brain not quite _grasping_ the situation? Or is it that you don't comprehend the definition of the word homunculus? If I was ignorant enough to gamble, my money would be on all three," Sherlock said coolly, rubbing his now-pinkish forehead with one finger.

"You know, you use a lot of big words for a tiny little man." Dean challenged, his hands clenching into fists as he took a few steps closer to Sherlock, who was possibly an inch or two taller than Dean.

"And you have a rather thick cranium for someone who has a remarkably small brain," Sherlock retorted.

"I think we need to lower the testosterone level in the room," Alina said firmly. Dean was still approaching Sherlock, so she stepped between them and put a hand against Dean's chest, facing him. "Come on, Dean," she said quietly, leaning in so that their conversation was a little more private. "These guys are our best shot at finding out what's going on and how to put a stop to it. We don't have to like them, but we do have to work _with_ them, so be the bigger man and let this go. Sherlock seems to like attention, so don't encourage him."

Dean's gaze traveled from Sherlock to Alina, and he relaxed a little. He breathed out in a huff. "I'll be outside." He strode towards the door and left, slamming it behind him. After a moment, Alina followed him. Everyone looked around uncomfortably.

Sherlock smirked and broke the silence. "I think I know who will be passionately copulating tonight."

"Oookayyy, _back to the matter at hand_ ," John said forcefully. "Would somebody please explain why the Doctor bashed his skull into Sherlock and Tracy's heads?"

"He was showing us who he is," Tracy explained, eyes shining. "It's incredible, really. All of time and space… Bad Wolf… Gallifrey…"

"…Showing you who he is?" Sam echoed uncertainly.

"Kind of like… Kind of like a Vulcan mind-meld, almost," Tracy told him. "But, basically, we can trust him, Sam. If anyone could ever help us with anything in any way, it's him. Oh. Oh! And the TARDIS—King _Arthur_ and _Merlin_ in the TARDIS! This is fascinating... Geronimo!"

"Do you really believe this, Sherlock?" John asked skeptically.

"Once you eliminate all other possibilities, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Sherlock recited. "Of course I believe it."


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur paced the length of the TARDIS control room for the umpteenth time. Gwaine was lounging on the two cushioned seats that were off to one side, and Percival was staring at the impressive array of buttons and switches and toggles, trying to figure out what they could possibly do. Rory was standing in a corner with his arms crossed over his chest, feeling uncomfortable and quite awkward. Why was it always _his_ job to babysit the "newbies"? The only difference this time was that all of these newbies could pound him into a pulp if they wanted to—even the skinniest one.

Arthur stopped walking, somewhat abruptly. Merlin, who had been following him as he paced back and forth, smacked roughly into his back.

"Oops. Sorry, Arthur." Merlin apologized, grinning sheepishly.

"Watch where you're walking, you bungling oaf… and stop pacing. You're making me nervous," Arthur snapped.

"Sorry, sire." Merlin mumbled.

Rory didn't bother to point out that Arthur had started pacing first. He was starting to realize that, king or not, Arthur was a royal pain in the—

"…Area." Arthur said, interrupting Rory's thoughts.

"What?" Rory asked.

"The area; I said, I need to go outside and survey the area," Arthur repeated restlessly.

"Um, the Doctor said to stay here," Rory replied hesitantly.

"Well, I think that the commands of a king outrank the wishes of a traveling physician." Arthur said, with a hint of condescension.

"Yeah, well… it's _his_ TARDIS, so you should probably stay here until the Doctor comes back." Rory said, with a little more force. "He usually knows what he's talking about. Usually."

"Gwaine, you and Merlin will stand guard outside over this… box, until I return. This land is strange. My father taught me to always get your bearings in a strange land, and that's exactly what I plan to do. Percival, you wait in here and keep an eye on this… fellow." Arthur basically ignored Rory altogether.

"But, I just said…" Rory faltered. It was clear that Arthur couldn't care less about what he had to say, and his knights would do whatever he wanted them to do. Arthur strode out of the TARDIS with Merlin following closely behind. Gwaine, who had just put his feet up, reluctantly stood up and followed after them.

Percival continued staring at the controls, not even bothering to glance up as his three companions departed. Rory cleared his throat.

"Uh, have I seen you somewhere?" Rory asked.

"Doubtful. I've never been here before." Percival answered, still not looking up.

"Hmm. Do you happen to know a guy named Jeff?"

If Percival was going to reply—which he probably wasn't—he was cut off, when the doors swung open.

"Well, that was quick." Rory said. But when he looked over, it wasn't that snobby king and his companions—it was the Doctor, and two strangers.

"No it wasn't, I was gone for quite some time," the Doctor said, twisting his wrist to look at his watch.

"No, I meant… never mind. Who are your friends?" Rory asked.

"This is Sherlock Holmes, and Tracy Collins," the Doctor replied, gesturing to each in turn. "And this is Sir Percival and Rory Pond."

"Actually, it's Rory _Williams_ ," Rory pointed out.

"Pond, where is King Arthur? And why are Merlin and Gwaine standing outside?" the Doctor asked.

"Um… he said he was getting his bearings and surveying the area or whatever," Rory answered, rolling his eyes. "And then he had those two go outside to stand guard."

"Fascinating. Time and relative dimensions in space," Sherlock interrupted, his eyes sweeping over the vast interior of the TARDIS. Without waiting for a reply, he walked around the control console, flipping various switches and knobs, muttering to himself.

"He looks quite at home," Rory observed.

"He looks nothing like _I_ do, and he's doing everything all wrong," the Doctor complained. Tracy walked past them over to where Percival was now watching Sherlock as he darted around, fiddling with assorted things.

"Excuse me," Tracy said politely.

"Oh. Uh, sure." With a gentlemanly half bow, the knight stepped aside. Tracy squatted down and looked underneath the control console. She stuck her hand in the space between the grate on floor and the console and wiggled her fingers around. With a small grunt, she leaned in closer and caught ahold of something. She withdrew her arm with little difficulty, holding a triangular scrap of red cloth. Suddenly, the TARDIS groaned, grinded, and puttered to life. It seemed to be functioning properly again.

"That was amazing! How'd you do that?" Rory asked, impressed.

"Well, it's rather complicated, but I'll try to speak slowly," Sherlock began, stepping back from the controls. The Doctor bypassed him and walked over to Tracy.

"How _did_ you do that?" he questioned.

"Your TARDIS smells all… futuristic. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's certainly something I've never smelled before. But, wafting discreetly from this corner was something earthy. Not like, dirty... just natural, and almost sweet. I figured there was enough space over here for something to get stuck. I guess this belongs to one of the people from the past?" Tracy held up the tattered bit of cloth she was holding.

It was Percival who answered. "Oh. That's Merlin's."

"I'm assuming you're speaking of that rather scrawny-looking young man who was standing outside wearing a grimy hodge-podge assortment of peasant-esque garb?" Sherlock asked, a little put off by the fact that he hadn't been the one to repair the TARDIS.

"Er, I wouldn't put it that way, but yeah, that's him," Percival said. Sherlock plucked the scarf from Tracy's grasp and exited the TARDIS with a bit of a swagger.

"Nobody said it," the Doctor said, pouting slightly. "Someone always says it."

"Says what?" Tracy asked.

"Never mind."

* * *

Sam was getting restless. It seemed like John and Amy were getting on well enough, so he made some excuses and left the room, trotting downstairs to go outside. His initial plan was to find Dean and talk things over, but he decided against it when he spotted his brother inside the café that was next to 221B. Dean and Alina seemed to be discussing something intensely, with their hands barely centimeters apart on the table.

He scanned the rest of the street, and soon caught sight of Sherlock, who was standing in front of an oddly placed police phone box with two men who were dressed a little strangely.

"Hey, Sherlock," Sam said as he approached him. "Uh. Have you seen Tracy?"

"Of course I've seen her. After all, I was one of two individuals who left the flat with her a mere 9.8 minutes ago. She's in there." He gestured carelessly to the blue box.

"… _In_ the _phone box_?" Sam repeated slowly, making sure he had heard correctly.

"Yes… _in_ … the… _phone_ … _box_ …" Sherlock repeated even slower. "She's with the Doctor and two other fellows."

"Wait. Tracy's in that little box? With three guys?" Sam felt his cheeks growing warmer.

"Yes. She's in there. What part of that don't you understand?" Sherlock asked irritably.

" . Okay. Who are they?" Sam asked, his gaze shifting reluctantly from the rather small box to the two strangers.

"I'm Gwaine. This is Merlin," the brawnier of the two answered. He had shoulder-length brown hair, and even though he was at least a foot shorter than Sam, he bore himself with confidence and ease. Merlin was taller than Gwaine, and skinnier, with rather protruding ears and dark hair that was artfully arranged as if he'd just gotten out of bed.

"I'm Sam." The younger Winchester looked back at the phone box. "I'll, uh, I'll go check on her."

"Yes, you go ahead and do that," Sherlock told him. "I'm sure she'll be _most appreciative_ of your concern for her."

Sam nodded to Gwaine and Merlin and walked over to the box. There was a sign by the handles that said "Pull to Open." He hesitated, but when he heard Tracy's voice waft softly through the window, he almost yanked the door open in his haste.

"What the—" Sam's mouth fell open at the sight of the inside of the box. "This isn't possible… It's bigger on the inside."

"Yes it is!" the Doctor exclaimed immediately, looking altogether far too pleased with himself. "You said it. Welcome aboard the TARDIS, Sammy boy. Make yourself at home."

Tracy waved at Sam, which made him feel a little bit more at ease—but he was still having trouble accepting the fact that the inside of a simple police phone box was actually a large, complicated room with a fancy control panel. "Is this a ship of some kind?"

"It travels in space and time," Tracy gushed. "Come on, I'll show you where everything is." She came over and took him by the hand, leading him over to one of the screens.

"Question," Sam said hesitantly, glancing down at their joined hands. "Why does it look like a police box from the 1960s? I mean, it probably has a cloaking device, right? So why a police box? That doesn't exactly blend in with modern times."

"Well, you guessed right—the TARDIS has a chameleon circuit which enables it to blend in with its surroundings, and a perception filter, which makes people not want to look at it or psychologically accept its physical presence, even though they know it's there," Tracy explained. "But the chameleon circuit is stuck on the form of a police box."

Sam nodded slowly. "I see. And is it bigger on the inside because of a pocket dimension or something like that?"

Tracy smiled. "Exactly!"

The Doctor watched them, satisfied, for a moment, before turning to Percival. "So! Jeff! What do _you_ think of my TARDIS?"

Percival tilted his head in confusion, glancing briefly at Rory. "Why does everyone think my name is Jeff?"

"Oops, sorry… Spatial Genetic Multiplicity and everything. Hard to explain—not that you wouldn't understand the concept. But, anyway, Percy—can I call you Percy? How does it feel to be thousands of years in the future?"

Percival considered that for a moment. "It's strange. Everything is so… metal, and new."

"Couldn't agree more," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "Heh, wait 'till you see New New York. Maybe I'll take you all there. Yes! Excellent idea, Percy!" He bounded over to the controls and flipped some switches. "Sammy, Tracy, d'you fancy a trip millions of years into the future?"

" _What_?" Rory exclaimed.

"Is he serious?" Sam asked Tracy worriedly.

"Oh, don't worry," Tracy assured him. "The Doctor can get us there and back again in literally no time at all. We can return to this exact moment in time as if no time has passed."

"I would rather wait until the others return," Percival said uneasily.

"Oh… All right. I understand," the Doctor said amiably. He un-flipped two switches, and when he got to the third, it wouldn't move. "Uh-oh." He whipped out his sonic and pressed it against the console, frowning.

"What's wrong?" Rory asked. "Is it broken?"

"It's stuck," Tracy pointed out. "And the TARDIS is taking flight. Its launch can't be reversed without that lever."

"Well, can't you just, I don't know, hit the brakes or something?" Sam said exasperatedly.

"It's not that simple," the Doctor explained. "And it looks like some of these toggles have been messed around with. And that switch over there. And that lever, too. Who could have—Hang on tight!" The TARDIS started shaking and emitting a strange VWORP sound. "Ah! There we go. Managed to stop it by reversing the polarity. The whole ordeal fried the power, though. She'll be down for at least 72 hours."

"72 hours? So you're saying we're stuck who-knows-where for three whole days," Sam realized.

"Welcome to my life," Percival said solemnly. Sam would have laughed at the knight's quip if he hadn't been so worried.

"Well, it's not all bad," the Doctor assured them. "This will be an adventure! Let's see where we are this time." He opened the doors and walked outside. The first thing he saw was the barrel of a shotgun.

"Who in the hell are you, and why are you on my property?" a gravelly voice with a southern drawl demanded.

"Oh, dear… A gun. I don't like guns," the Doctor said forlornly.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean sighed and rubbed at his temples. "It's just so hard. It's so damn hard to have so many things to deal with all the damn time. It never stops."

"You deal with it well, though," Alina said quietly. Dean grunted. "No, I mean it," she insisted. "You have such a weight on your shoulders, but you know how to carry it. And you're always looking out for your little brother, even when he doesn't know it; because, no matter how much older and bigger and stronger he gets, you'll always be there to protect him." She smiled. "I know exactly how that feels."

Dean nodded. "I would die for Sammy. I mean, I literally _have,_ and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But I can't ever let myself care about anyone else besides him."

"Why?"

"Well, because they'll just get hurt, in the end. And whether it's my fault or not—whether I could have saved them or not—I'll still be the one that's left behind. I'll still be the one with another piece of my heart torn away. And that'll keep happening until there's nothing left of myself. When that happens…" Dean stared down at the table. "I don't know what I'll become."

"Then don't let it happen," Alina said firmly.

Dean glanced at her, confused. "What?"

"Don't be afraid of letting your heart feel what it wants to feel. Love who you want to love. Care about their well-being. Cherish their company. Treasure your time together. And let those feelings and the memories of how they made you feel burn all the brighter until they make you even stronger than before. You put your life on the line every day; and every day that you risk your life and live to tell the tale, you learn something, and you have a better chance of surviving the next day. Why not risk your heart, too?"

Dean was at a loss for words. Alina's brown eyes were bright, and her cheeks had a little color to them from the passion and fervor with which she had spoken. "Why… Why is it so easy to talk to you?" he muttered.

"I didn't quite catch that," Alina said, leaning in. "What?"

Dean intended to repeat himself, but he was getting increasingly distracted by the lack of distance between his mouth and Alina's.

"Dean?" Alina asked, her voice wavering slightly. Dean's attention was fully captivated by the shape of her lips and the way they said his name.

"Dean!" someone else shouted, snapping the two out of their trance. "Alina! There you are." Several patrons in the café gave Amy disapproving looks as she trotted over loudly and pulled a chair up to Alina and Dean's table for two. John followed at a more respectful distance, casting Dean an apologetic glance.

"Everyone kept leaving until it was just Watson and me, sipping tea and making pleasantries. Oh, yeah, I decided to call him Watson. Sounds cooler. Anyway, it was, y'know, _nice_ , I suppose, but it got old fast. So," Amy went on, slinging an arm about each of their shoulders. "What have you two lovebirds been up to?"

If Alina's cheeks were flushed pink before, now they were definitely scarlet. Dean grimaced and shrugged Amy's arm off of him. "You said everyone left? Where's Sam?"

"Dodging the question, I see," Amy said knowingly, with a wink at Alina. "I'm guessing he went off wherever everyone else went. So, I came to find out where everyone else went. And I should probably check on my husband, too. Can't leave him alone for too long."

"Is that Sherlock?" John asked, squinting at the clear front window of the café. "Who's that with him?"

"Oh, that's just Merlin. And either Percival or Gwaine—I can't seem to remember," Amy said thoughtfully.

"So that's Merlin the great sorcerer and one of King Arthur's knights. Okay," Alina said, raising her eyebrows. "I guess we should see what's going on." They trooped outside together.

"Ah, here we go. The whole gang's together again," Sherlock deadpanned as they approached him.

"Er, not exactly," Amy pointed out. "Where's the Doctor? And Rory, and that other knight?"

"I don't see Sam anywhere, either. Or Tracy," Dean said suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I think they were in the Doctor's ship," Gwaine realized. "Percival was already inside, and the Doctor, Tracy and that tall fellow—Sam, was it? They all went in there before it disappeared."

"The ship just disappeared?" Alina asked anxiously. "With Tracy inside?"

"It didn't disappear, per se," Sherlock said with a hint of superiority. "It traveled to another point in time and space."

"I don't care if it got up and danced away; I just want to know if my brother is safe or not," Dean said curtly.

"He's fine," Sherlock assured him, rolling his eyes. "They're all quite safe."

"But… What are we supposed to do?" Merlin piped up. "How do we know where—and, er, _when_ they are?"

"I know exactly where and when they are," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "I sent them there."

"What?" Amy scoffed. "You couldn't know how to do that."

"You'd be surprised," John muttered to her.

Dean looked about ready to take Sherlock down a notch, but he relaxed when Alina subtly touched his hand. Gwaine nodded, soaking in all of the information, and looked around thoughtfully. "Where's Arthur?"

Merlin's eyes widened. "Arthur! He could be anywhere! Oh, I should have gone with him. I should have—he could be hurt, or—"

"Ah, there you are. Poor Merlin. Can't let you out of my sight for five seconds, can I?" Arthur chuckled as he walked up to them.

Merlin folded his arms sourly, but he was secretly relieved that Arthur was fine. The King of Camelot looked around at all of the unfamiliar faces. "And who are all of these people?" His expression changed as his gaze came to rest upon Alina. She smiled, but she was a little unnerved, because he was staring at her very intensely. Arthur's eyes widened. "It cannot be…?"

"…Sorry, what?"Alina glanced uncertainly from him to Merlin and Gwaine. Arthur took a step closer to her, and Dean's hand flexed instinctively towards his gun. Then, a look of realization passed over Arthur's face.

"…Oh. Forgive me, I… You are most beautiful. On first glance, I mistook you for my— for someone I know." Arthur took Alina's hand in his and kissed it tenderly.

She blushed pleasantly, but Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, whatever. She's not whoever you thought she was. And you are?"

Arthur straightened up, releasing Alina's hand reluctantly. "Arthur, King of Camelot." He nodded an acknowledgement at Dean and the rest of the crowd before addressing Gwaine. "Where is Percival?"

"Oh, uh, we were just getting to that," Merlin said. "He and some of our other new companions went off in that Doctor's ship."

"We're missing an important detail here," Amy said. "Sherlock, you still haven't told us where and when you sent them. Or why, for that matter."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Sherlock said. "Alina should be receiving a call in a few minutes."

* * *

"I _said,_ who the hell are you, and why are you on my property? I don't like having to repeat myself," the man with the shotgun said testily.

Rory was the next to exit the TARDIS, and when he saw the gun and the scary-looking guy holding it, he almost dove back in. "Whoa-ho-ho. Okayyy; big gun, angry man. Don't hurt us—we come in peace!"

"Hello! I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said, easing the tip of the gun down with one finger. "I'm the owner of a scrap metal recycling business. We use recycled metal to create new, more useful things, like soda cans and robot dogs. I'm interested in purchasing a few of your old clankers." He held up his psychic paper with a flourish.

"Bullshit," the guy said, without even glancing at the wallet. "If you don't start talking, I _will_ start shooting, and forget entirely about asking questions."

"It was worth a try," the Doctor said, shrugging.

"I think we should do what he says," Rory suggested, eyeing the shotgun.

"Bobby! So _that's_ where it wound up dropping us off. It's okay—they're with me," Sam told him as he emerged from the TARDIS. "It's a long story."

Bobby gave him a sour look, watching as Tracy and Percival also walked out of the blue box. "How did you all… Never mind. I'm not sure I _want_ to know," he grumbled. "But you sure as hell got some explainin' to do, Sam Winchester."

Once they were all situated inside Bobby's place, Sam relayed to him everything that had happened so far. While he talked, the Doctor busied himself by sonic-ing everything within reach, and Rory paced around nervously, poking at various oddities. When he almost knocked over a ring of unlit candles, Bobby glared at him until he backed away.

Sam was having trouble focusing on his story, because he couldn't help noticing that Tracy and Percival were standing significantly close to each other—Tracy was tapping away on her cell phone, probably texting Alina; and Percival was leaning over her shoulder, intrigued by the bright little device that lit up and wrote letters without a quill and ink. Sam managed to get his words out anyway. When he was finished, Bobby nodded slowly.

"So what you're saying is that you met several wackjobs and banded up with all of them to form your very own Mystery Gang, a lot of unimportant confusion and shenanigans happened, and you got completely distracted from the job that you were actually going to work, which is finding out where the hell all these witch worshippers are vanishing to. And you couldn't handle it yourselves, so you come cryin' to me for help."

Sam didn't know what to say, so the Doctor put in his two cents. "That's not _exactly_ what happened, but it's pretty close."

"I didn't ask _you_ , chinboy," Bobby said. The Doctor frowned and turned away, discreetly measuring his chin.

"Well, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that, judging by the extensive amounts of research material and anti-evil sigils in here, and the way you handle a shotgun, you really know your stuff," Rory said nervously.

Bobby glanced from him to Sam. "Well, you're in luck, I guess. I've actually taken an interest in this disappearing act, myself, and I happen to have a guest waiting patiently downstairs for me to get back to him. I came across a demon who's possessing one of your Le Fay cult gurus. Goes by the handle 'Mordred'."

"Mordred?" Percival exclaimed, straightening up suddenly. "He is here, in your home?"

"I think he means more like a, a spirit invading a human body, who isn't the actual Mordred _you_ know, and just uses the same name. Right?" Rory asked tentatively.

"More or less," Bobby acknowledged. He looked over at Rory again. "Who are all you people, anyway?"

Sam rattled of their names and titles. "This is Tracy Collins, a consulting detective. Percival, one of King Arthur's knights. The Doctor, a time-traveling alien from the planet Gallifrey. And Rory, his, er—companion."

Bobbygrunted out a sigh, squinting at Percival. "Of course you are. What's next, fairies from Neverland? Can't ever bring home anyone _normal_ , can you?" Bobby nodded at Tracy. "At least _you're_ not from another time period. Almost didn't recognize you at first—you've sure grown up since last I saw ya. Well, anyway, if anyone wants to come with me, I'm going to ask our guest downstairs a few questions. Might get a bit graphic, so don't come if you can't stomach it."

"I would speak with this being who claims the name of Mordred," Percival said. Bobby nodded at him. "Anyone else?"

"I'll go," Sam said, right as Tracy said "Yeah". Bobby gave her a queer look, but he didn't say she couldn't come.

"Er, it's not really my style," the Doctor said.

"Yeah… mine either," Rory said quickly. "I don't think I—uh—I'll just stay here."

"Suit yourselves. If anyone tries to come inside, shoot 'em." Bobby led Sam, Tracy, and Percival to the basement, leaving Rory and the Doctor sitting awkwardly in the living room.

"With what?" Rory asked faintly as the group walked away. But no one seemed to hear him.


	8. Chapter 8

[ **A/N:** Sorry for the long wait! Things get wibbly-wobbly when you're trying to transfer to a new university because yours decided to close down. Here's a chappy for ya. Hopefully, all the confusion will lessen soon. Or maybe it'll only get worse? Only _time_ will tell.]

* * *

"TARDIS wound up at Bobby Singer's place," Alina read aloud from her phone. "Apparently, it's stuck here for at least three days. Will update you in a few minutes after Sam and Bobby compare info."

"Well, that's a relief," John said. "At least they're all okay. Right?"

"So much for your 'super sleuthing'. She got a text, not a call," Dean muttered at Sherlock, who ignored him.

"It's kind of vague, but it'll do," Alina said with a sigh. "The question is, what do we do now?"

"We could wait for them to return," Merlin suggested; not quite aware of the distance between Sioux Falls, South Dakota and London, England.

"Eh. I hate sitting around and waiting," Amy announced. "Let's do something. You're all investigating disappearances, right? Why don't we continue with that?"

"We've hit a little bit of a roadblock, red," Dean grunted. "There's not much we can do until Sammy and Tracy get back to us."

"You're quick to run out of ideas," Sherlock mused. "That's rather unsurprising."

Alina cleared her throat. "Actually, I have an idea. Maybe we should try to figure out where Sir Gwaine has disappeared to." She raised her eyebrows as each member of the group glanced around, unable to locate the Knight of Camelot.

"He is most likely scouting ahead," Arthur put in. "Unless another blue box has taken him away."

"Here he comes now," John announced, squinting into the distance as a well-built figure came jogging towards them.

"Gwaine? Why are you running? And why is your sword drawn?" Merlin asked, bewildered.

"He probably attempted to do battle with an oversized lorry," Sherlock said loftily.

"Sherlock, I've had more than enough of your sass," Alina snapped. John stared, bewildered, as Sherlock blinked and actually shut his mouth instead of smirking and delivering another witty one-liner. "Gwaine, what's wrong?" Alina continued.

"I saw something I suspect you'll all want to investigate," Gwaine said, panting slightly. "Two columns of black smoke converged on an alley not far from here and transformed into two men. One wore a hood and a mask, and the other had eyes so dark it was like looking into hell itself. I believe it was sorcery."

Dean grimaced. "Black eyes, huh? I think I know what we're dealing with here. Demons."

"Excellent! Let's all go," Amy exclaimed. "That sounds like my kind of adventure."

"No, a smaller group will draw less attention. I think a few of us should check it out, and the rest should stay here and wait to hear from Tracy," Dean said in an authoritative tone. "Alina, you're with me. No one else has hunting experience of any kind, so they'd just get in the way."

Arthur chuckled. "I believe you're forgetting that I am the king and protector of an entire land. I am more than qualified to battle two men made of smoke. I have seen my fair share of witchcraft and its evils. And Gwaine, of course, is fully capable as well. I will not be told to hide with a scholar, a physician, an excitable girl, and Merlin while a mere huntsman runs into danger behind a lady like Alina."

Dean grimaced, and the others weren't too glad to hear Arthur's opinion of them, but Alina took charge once again. "You're right, Arthur. We could use backup from both you and Gwaine; plus, obviously, he's the only one who can take us to what he saw. Merlin, can I trust you to look after everyone here?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but didn't protest, which further amazed John. "I-I, uh, yes, you can count on me," Merlin said, pleasantly surprised.

"Amy, here's my phone," Alina said, tossing it to her. "If you don't see or hear from us in 30 minutes, I want you to call Tracy; she's speed dial #2."

"Got it. Go kick some smoke monster butt for me!" Amy crowed. Alina saluted with two fingers and ran off with Dean, Arthur, and Gwaine.

"…So, that's it, then? You weren't going to argue with Alina about how she can't order you around, or about how you don't need protection from a pre-pubescent young man in a neckerchief, or that you could have come up with a much better plan?" John asked, glancing at Sherlock.

He grunted. "No. Alina has a sensible head on her shoulders, and thought well under pressure. I saw no reason to contradict her."

"Someone's got a bit of a fancy, hasn't he?" Amy asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Merlin raised a hand. "Er, a fancy what?"

* * *

"There they are," Gwaine said under his breath, close enough to Alina that his beard was practically tickling her cheek. They all crouched behind a dumpster, out of earshot of the two men huddled in the corner of the alley. "They are clearly villains of some sort. We can take them down easily if we charge with two of us on either side. We have the element of surprise."

"Let's do it. Alina, stay behind me," Dean said gruffly, reaching for a knife that was sticking out of the back of his pocket.

"Wait." Alina touched Dean's hand, and he froze, a chill going up his spine. "They could have important information. I think we should wait and go for stealth."

"We can get plenty of information with my knife at their throats," Dean pointed out.

"Yes, we could take that risk; or they could vanish in a puff of black smoke as soon as they see us coming, and then they'll know that we're after them, and we won't know anything."

"Sound reasoning, fair lady," Arthur agreed, resting a hand on her shoulder. Dean's eyes narrowed as Arthur continued. "We shall wait, and when the opportune moment arises, we strike."

"They're speaking," Gwaine whispered, motioning towards the men. Everyone quieted down, and Arthur leaned closer to Alina to get a better view. Dean's hands clenched into fists, but he kept quiet.

"Enough with the pleasantries—let's get down to business. Do you have what I sent you for?"

The speaker was a man who looked fairly ordinary, with the exception of his eyes, which were as black and soulless as Gwaine had described.

"Yeah, I got it. I had to slit a few throats to get my hands on it…but I'll spare you the details." The second man was wearing a dark robe with a pointed hood, and most of his face was obscured by a skull-shaped mask. He withdrew a slim stick of wood from his sleeve. It was slightly longer than a pencil, but bore no distinctive marks.

"What is this? Some kind of cheap trick? You said you had magic."

"Patience, Reginald, my black-eyed friend. I think you'll find that magic comes in more than one form." He waved his wooden stick above his head, drawing loops and spirals of fire in the air while muttering under his breath. In a cloud of purple smoke, a small, unassuming drawstring bag appeared in his hand.

He handed it over to Reginald, who opened it partially and peered inside.

"And this is it? The genuine article?" he asked.

"I am quite certain," the hooded man said coolly.

"Here. For your troubles." Reginald pulled a stack of assorted bills out from his pocket.

The other man held up a hand. "Where I come from, those are more than useless, I assure you."

"Great, more for me." He re-pocketed the cash. "Thanks for your service, Hans."

"Please. If we accomplish what I hope to, the rewards will vastly outnumber any amount of muggle or wizard currency."

"That's what I'm hopin'. Well, it's been a pleasure."

"Likewise." Hans inclined his head. "Say hi to Morgana for me."

Reginald chuckled darkly as he began to walk away.

Behind the dumpster, Gwaine's hand tightened around his sword. "Just as I thought. Practitioners of dark sorcery, and they are in league with Morgana."

"If that is the case, we cannot wait any longer," Arthur muttered. "Now!" He sprang forward from their hiding spot, followed closely by Gwaine. Both men wielded their blades with an expertise that could only have been attained after years of training and experience.

Alina shrugged and leapt forward as well, and Dean charged ahead of her, going straight for the demon who called himself Reginald.

"A Winchester. I should have known you boys would come stick your noses in our business," the demon snarled, stepping back into a crouch. "Where's the oafish one? Trade him in for this little tart?" He smirked at Alina, who grimaced and very discreetly pulled a weapon out of a small pocket in her jeans.

"Shut your piehole," Dean growled. He lunged for the demon with his knife bared.

Across the alley, Arthur and Gwaine were dually fending off blasts of magical energy from the wizard's wand.

"Whoever you are, it matters not—I will soon be rid of you," the dark wizard announced. "Morgana will not be pleased to have been kept waiting!" He fired more blasts at the knights, and one clipped Gwaine in the shoulder, sending him to the ground with a grunt of pain.

"It won't be a simple task to dispatch us," Arthur shouted. "What do you know of Morgana's plans?" He angled his sword to deflect another spell.

"As if I would breathe a word of it to you," his foe admonished, lazily flicking his wand again. "It matters not. I did my duty, and I'll not waste more precious time scuffling with Muggles like you!" The wizard pulled his wand into his sleeve and, with a loud popping sound, disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Dean grappled closely with the demon, who had met his assault with open arms. The older Winchester still had his knife ready in one hand, but he couldn't get the blade close enough. Suddenly, his opponent slumped to the ground, clapping a hand to his chest in pain. Dean whirled around to see Alina, whose hand was extended as though she'd just thrown something.

The demon crumpled on the floor had a five-inch long metal dart sticking out of his chest. The length of metal was inscribed with symbols similar to the ones on the knife Dean was still grasping in one hand.

"Did you throw that?" Dean asked gruffly.

Alina raised her eyebrows. "Uh, yeah."

"You coulda hit me," he growled, secretly impressed.

"I don't miss," Alina assured him. Arthur and Gwaine crossed the alley to join them; the latter pressing his hand against a light wound on his shoulder.

"All right, chuckles," Dean growled, slamming the demon against the wall of the alley. "I'm having one hell of a day and all of my patience is gone. Start talking."

"Heh. Didn't your mommy teach you to ask nicely? Oh, wait…"

Dean punched him in the stomach. "What the hell is in that bag, and why are you working with Morgana the teenaged bitch?"

"I wouldn't concern yourself with it. These things are way over your head, Winchester," he spat. "Time's running out—better get your kicks while you can," he added, waggling his eyebrows towards Alina, who was standing there with her arms folded and no expression on her face. "And I'm not working with Morgana. If my boss happens to think that cooperating with an all-powerful witch from the past is a smart move, then it's a smart move. I do as I'm told."

Dean shifted so that he could block Alina from the demon's line of vision. "You still haven't told me about the damn bag."

"Perceptive, aren't you? I must admit, I'm rather disappointed. I thought a famous Winchester would be more of a challenge."

"I'm the one who has you pinned to a wall."

"Not for long. Oh, and I wouldn't worry about the bag… It's not as though you'll be able to get it open. I'll be back for it real soon—if I'm lucky, I'll have to wrestle your girlfriend to get it!"

Dean socked him in the face, but the demon's vessel opened its mouth and a column of thick black smoke erupted from it, seeping through the ground at a faster speed than Dean had ever seen it go before. He shoved the empty body to the ground. "Damn it."

"This the true power of black magic," Arthur said solemnly. "Now that the dark spirit is gone, I feel as though a fog has lifted from the air."

Alina nodded. "Yeah, demons practically reek of evil." She knelt and retrieved her throwing blade from the body, and picked up the bag he had left behind. Just for good measure, she tugged on the opening. "No dice. I wouldn't be surprised if it's magically sealed."

"Now what the hell do we do?" Dean asked.

"I don't mean to interrupt," Gwaine grunted, "but perhaps we should get back to that doctor friend of yours and have him take a look at my shoulder."

"Of course. Sorry, Gwaine," Alina apologized. She took one last look at the now motionless body before the four of them left to rejoin the others.

* * *

"Cold be heart and hand and bone. Cold be travelers far from home!"

"What in the hell kind of nonsense is that?" Bobby asked through gritted teeth. "I gave you a question, so answer it." He emptied another container of holy water over Mordred's head.

Sam glanced at Tracy, who didn't even flinch at the demon's ear-piercing screams. She was watching the proceedings, but with more curiosity and alertness than fear or disgust.

"Maybe now you'll be willing to tell me," Bobby went on. "What is Morgana's angle?"

"Can we find all this in London? …If you know where to go," Mordred muttered so lowly that they all had to lean in to hear him. "Pigfarts, Pigfarts, here I come."

"I can do this all day," Bobby told the demon, turning to select a new tool from his torture arsenal. "So if you want even a smidgen of relief, you're going to cooperate."

"Do you have what I sent you for?" Mordred mumbled, giggling. "I don't think you know what you think you know, baby." He directed that last part to Tracy, with a wink and a lick of the lips.

Sam shifted protectively, and Bobby brandished his pliers readily, but Percival stepped forward, studying him closely.

"Mordred. Is your true mind within this unfamiliar vessel?"

Everyone else stood, tensely quiet, while Mordred smirked up at Percival; a rare clarity coming over his features. "Hello again, Percival."

"Why do you still follow Morgana's orders? What riches has she promised you?"

"I wished… My only wish… MY ONLY WISH!" he shouted in anguish. Then that loopiness returned. "But wishes are dreams, and dreams are pretend. My only crime… was on the inside. True to your heart.Welcome to Sacred Heart."

"Why do you speak in riddles?" Percival pressed. "What is your purpose here?"

"Morgana needs her relics, of course. I'm the only man for the job. Ran into some interference during the very first trip through the vortex, and NOT EVERYTHING WOUND UP IN THE RIGHT PLACE! My mind is melded. Melded Mordred. King of hell said he would work with us."

"King of hell?" Sam and Bobby exchanged a look, but they didn't interrupt.

"King of SMELL," Mordred hissed. "He didn't do it right. You have to say it right. Lock up the badger with the initial key and the lock you'd still have. Badger badger badger. I'm in charge of his minions. They're my minions now. Despicable _me_. Find the relics, bring them back. Albion will be hers. Hell will be mine. No muss, no fuss. Started from the bottom. Can't stop, won't stop."

"What manner of objects will give Morgana the power to take over all of Albion?" Percival inquired. "She does not yet even hold Camelot under her control."

"The magic, of course," Mordred said matter-of-factly. "And once she has them all, all she needs is the power in _me_. All thirteen! The relics and smell-ics have magic. Ancient magic. SORCERY! Witchcraft and wizardry. For now, we're bare and full of air, dead flies and BITS OF FLUFF!"

"He's insane," Sam said under his breath. "I don't think we're going to get much out of him."

"No, wait," Tracy whispered. "He's giving us more than you think he is."

"How so?" Bobby questioned.

Tracy's eyebrows drew together. "I'll explain later."

"No ya don't! Don't say goodbye. Don't say I didn't try." Mordred grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "This has all been re-he-he-he- _HE_ -eally delightful; but I'll be taking my leave now, if you don't mind. Don't wanna see you go, but it's not forever. Taffeta, darling."

Before anyone could do anything, a pillar of black smoke tinged with green swirls ejected itself from Mordred's mouth and surrounded his host body, suffocating it until all the life was squeezed out. Then the smoke disappeared in a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning.

"He was obviously affected by powerful magic," Tracy mused. "A regular demon couldn't possibly have escaped from all of these symbol traps, chains, and precautions."

They all stared at the dead body sitting before them, its head tilted aimlessly to one side.

Bobby grimaced. "Balls."

* * *

Once they had regrouped upstairs, Bobby mentioned that he had the Impala parked outside. "Just 'cause I didn't want to listen to your brother whinin' about his baby being abandoned in Vegas," Bobby told Sam with a smirk. "He owes me, though."

"Dean has abandoned his child?" Percival asked incredulously.

Tracy shook her head. "I think he's just very fond of his car."

"Well, great. We have a car—that means transportation," Rory piped up. "So that's good, right? Um, where exactly will we be transporting ourselves to?"

"Mordred spouted a lot of nonsense, but the main point is that there are some form of magical relics that he's trying to collect for Morgana," Tracy informed them. "I'm not sure what they do, but it can't be good, because they will apparently give her the power to take over Albion, which would change history completely—especially since Camelot's events are meant to be a fixed point in time," she added, glancing at the Doctor. "And some of the relics can be found in London. The rest are scattered around the world."

"He didn't give specifics, though," Sam pointed out. "So we have a little bit more information, but no idea what to do with it."

"Actually, this is where the Doctor comes in," Tracy said, smiling over at him. "Doctor?"

"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed, flipping his sonic screwdriver and stepping forward to pace the room as he spoke. "While you all were, uh, questioning your questiony fellow, I decided to modify the settings on my sonic to detect not only temporal disturbances, but magical ones as well."

"But you've said magic doesn't exist," Rory interjected. "That it's all really just science."

"Exactly!" The Doctor grinned and pointed at Rory. "But, after all, we did just meet Merlin, didn't we? So I scanned him when he wasn't looking, and hooked a few things up, shifted some things here and there, and presto!" He lifted his sonic, which was now glowing a faint orange color at its usually green tip. "Timey Magic Detector. It'll lead us to anything that gives off a temporal and magical signal, such as these relics you're talking about. The orange light means there's a disturbance nearby, but not close."

"Glad you were able to get your fairy wand to light up," Bobby said drily. "Is there a plan, or isn't there?"

"I think there is now," Sam said thoughtfully. "Is there?" He glanced at Tracy, who was looking pleased.

"Oh, there most definitely is."

* * *

Rory crossed his arms, shaking his head in disbelief. "I just don't understand it. How come Tracy gets to sit up front and we get crammed into the back seat with the Quarterback of Camelot?" he muttered under his breath to the Doctor. They were watching Sam and Tracy pack up the older Winchester's car from a little ways away.

"Well, I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation," the Doctor replied. "She probably called 'shotgun' or 'dibs'; Americans are fond of that." He straightened his bowtie with one hand.

"Or?" Rory prodded.

"Or…o-or it could because she's…well, because she is a…girl?" The Doctor said hesitantly.

Rory raised his eyebrows. "There you go."

The Doctor shook his head ruefully. "Well if you knew the answer, then why did you ask me? Humans!"

"It was a rhetorical question!"

Bobby walked up to them, carrying several firearms. "If you two aren't too busy with your lovers' spat, I thought you could use these," he offered.

"Oh! Well, thanks. Great…but, ehm, I'm not really the gun-toting type; you see, I've got this, remember?" The Doctor pulled out his sonic and flipped it in the air before catching it in his other hand. "I'm all set." He grinned happily.

"Suit yourself." Bobby shrugged and tossed the guns into the trunk of the Impala. "Take them anyway, just in case. What does that thing do besides light up, anyway? Is it some kind of fancy alien laser cannon beam doohickey?" he asked.

"Actually it's a screwdriver. …It's sonic," the Doctor elaborated.

"Well, I'm sure that will come in handy if you run into a disassembled cabinet." Bobby snorted sarcastically. "Do you even realize what you two idjits signed up for? You are hunting demons! Not picking daffodils in the springtime!"

"I've hunted demons before." the Doctor said seriously. "Different faces, but essentially the same thing. These eyes have seen the things that your worst nightmares have sleepless nights about. I'm not just the Doctor; I am a warrior, a legend, the Oncoming Storm. Demons run when a good man goes to war." He paused for dramatic effect.

"Right, and I'm the Queen of Sheba. Just, be careful. Got to have your wits about ya: constant vigilance." Bobby walked off back towards his house, shaking his head.

"Well…that's not usually how people respond." the Doctor said after a moment.

"Yeah, and, we're not a couple, by the way!" Rory shouted after Bobby, but he didn't seem to hear him.

"Hey, guys, we're gonna get going now," Tracy announced. "Hopefully the Doctor's screwdriver will do the trick and lead us to the first of these relics."

The two time travelers clambered into the backseat of the car. Sam winced at the sight of a long scratch along the hood, courtesy of the Doctor's TARDIS, which had landed right next to the Impala. Dean would not be happy about that. Sam got into the driver's seat and started the engine, and Tracy was about to get in when she realized that Percival hadn't moved yet.

"Um, Sir?" Tracy said, saluting awkwardly.

"There is no need." He waved a hand dismissively. "You can just call me Percival…or Percy. Or Jeff, apparently."

Tracy chuckled. "What's wrong?"

"This…metal cart. It is not bigger on the inside, is it?" he asked, peering at the Impala's tinted windows skeptically.

"No, it's proportionate." Tracy replied with a smile.

"Oh, good. And it doesn't require horses?" Percival added uncertainly.

"Nope. And before you ask, it only travels like a wagon does; not through time or space," Tracy answered.

"It's not propelled by magic, is it?" He looked a little embarrassed; probably because of all the questions he kept asking.

"Not at all," she assured him, sensing his discomfort. "It's purely science and it's as safe as a cart." Tracy took a moment to shoot another text to Alina. Got some muddled leads here. Gonna go after some kind of a magical 'relic' that may turn things in our favor. Details later.

Percival nodded and climbed into the back seat, satisfied. Tracy got into the passenger's seat and buckled in. As they drove off of Bobby's lot to find the first relic, she glanced in the rearview mirror and stifled a laugh.

Rory was looking very uncomfortable squished up against the Doctor in an effort to not bump into Percival, who took up most of the backseat. The Doctor, quite oblivious to Rory's dilemma, was staring out of the window humming and absentmindedly twiddling his thumbs. The Knight of Camelot was making the window on his side roll up and down; clicking the switch he'd just discovered with a fascinated expression on his face.


	9. Chapter 9

After John patched up Gwaine's shoulder, the group dispersed slightly, so as to be less conspicuous while Alina conversed with Tracy in low tones over the phone. Dean stood by her, shooting dirty looks at anyone who passed by at too close of a distance, while Sherlock, John, and Amy pretended to window shop down the street. Arthur, Merlin, and Gwaine stood to the side, watching the cars along the road and discussing the possible functions of such vehicles.

"No, I don't have any idea what a Pigfart is, either," Alina was saying. "But what he said about thirteen relics that can give Morgana the power to rule Albion… That sounds pretty serious."

"No kidding," Tracy said half-heartedly, on the other line. "And I didn't like what he said about her using his power combined with hers to take over Albion and hell, too. He definitely wasn't in his right mind. I wonder if that makes his powers even more dangerous and unpredictable. When he left his host body, it was unnatural too—the black smoke had swirls of green magic surrounding him. I'm not sure _what_ Mordred is at this point."

"I guess we can't worry too much about him right now," Alina said. "We need to find a way to get this bag open and learn more about these relics. If they can really give Morgana the power she needs, we need to find them first and destroy them."

"Absolutely. The Doctor fiddled around with his sonic screwdriver and wired it so that it can detect temporal and magical disturbances, so we're headed towards the first relic now. There are a number of them scattered around the U.S., some are in London, and there's no telling where the others are. Hopefully we can retrieve this one and start searching for the others while you guys figure out a way to find the relics nearer to you."

"Sounds like a plan. Keep me as updated as you can. Stay safe, kiddo—take care of all those boys."

Tracy smiled, glancing in the rearview mirror of the Impala to observe the memorable sight in the backseat: Rory sandwiched between Camelot's largest knight and the most gangly, awkward humanoid alien she had ever met. Then she looked at Sam, who had his eyes on the road, and whose hair was shining slightly from the sun's rays passing through the driver's side window. "Will do," she replied to her sister before hanging up.

"What now?" Dean asked Alina as she ended her call.

Alina squared her shoulders, not wanting to let him see that she was getting a little overwhelmed by all of this. "Let's take our business inside. I feel like the clamor of a busy pub will hide our business better than an open street." She waved to the others, and they all trooped inside the nearest tavern: The Leaky Cauldron.

Alina and Dean let everyone else grab a seat ahead of them as they walked towards the table at a slower pace. Dean looked around to make sure no one was listening before he spoke again. "So we have to find and destroy thirteen magic items?"

"Yeah. And I have a feeling one of them is inside this bag," Alina said quietly. "We have to get this open and figure out what it is and how to make sure the witch doesn't get her hands on it. Now, I didn't tell any of the others, because I didn't want them to be alarmed—but this Leaky Cauldron place is actually a bar for magical people. It conceals the entrance to the modern-day wizarding shopping district."

Dean blinked. "So everyone here is a witch or wizard?"

"Not everyone. I'm fairly certain the bartender is magical, and many of the patrons are; particularly those wearing cloaks. But non-magical people come here, too, and most of them don't know any better. I only know about this place's true identity because supernatural occurrences and other oddities in London have been my main focus of research for the past year or so." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, I was hoping that we might possibly find someone in here who can help us with this bag."

She paused. Her entire body tensed up as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head slowly, Alina appraised the man who had stopped her—he was of average height, shrouded in dark clothing and a cloak that concealed his features.

"It is simple," he told her. "You must find the Weasleys at the Burrow."

"The weasel bees at their burrow? What is this chucklehead talking about?" Dean muttered to Alina. His hand was on the gun hilt tucked into his belt.

"They will have the answers you seek," the stranger insisted. "Ask the father, Arthur."

"And how do we know we can trust you?" Dean asked suspiciously, not mentioning his confusion about that blond-haired prick from Camelot being the father of a weasel bee. "You're a strange man in a dark cloak in a little tavern full of people we don't know who can do all sorts of magic whatsits we know nothing about."

"Your pretty Latina friend can tell you," the stranger said with a hint of humor to his voice. "She has the skills she needs."

Alina narrowed her eyes momentarily. She was analyzing the character's voice, mannerisms, posture, inflection, and more. She deduced that, while this person may not be the sort they should necessarily want to associate themselves with, he just so happened to be telling the truth about this particular situation. However, helping her and her team was almost certainly part of some plan that would benefit him in his own ways; good or bad. Alina weighed the pros and the cons, and concluded that this was their best lead. Even though deciding to trust him may lead to greater difficulties in the future, they wouldn't be getting much farther if she didn't take the chance. The others were all looking to her, and if anything bad happened, she would take full responsibility… But she hoped beyond hope that her choice was the right one.

All this ran through Alina's head in the space of a few seconds. "And how are you going to get us there?" she asked calmly.

She could hear the soft smile that undoubtedly now graced the stranger's features. "Outside the back entrance, there is a brick wall. In front of the brick wall lies a Portkey… an old boot. Everyone must touch the boot by 5:07pm exactly, and it will transport you to your destination."

"Why are you helping us for no reason?" Dean asked darkly. "What if that boot kills everyone it touches?"

"That's a risk you're going to have to take," he said in a sing-songy sort of voice. "Oh, look at the time… I'm late. I'm late for a very important date." The hooded man reached into his cloak and tossed a sprinkling of glittery black powder into the air. The whole tavern was thrown into pitch-black darkness for one split second; short enough of a time to seem as though everyone had simply blinked at the same time—although Alina knew better. As soon as light was returned to their surroundings, the man who had been speaking with them was gone.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean muttered.

"It's our next lead," Alina told him. "We're going to the Burrow."

"Are you kidding me? That guy was off his meds," Dean said in a low voice. "There's no way we can take him seriously. We're just going to have to find another way to get that bag open."

"He wasn't lying," Alina said firmly. "Not about this Portkey thing." She looked Dean in the eyes. "Do you trust me?"

Dean was silent for a moment as he searched Alina's deep brown eyes. "I do," he admitted softly. Alina nodded once and headed back towards the others, followed closely by the older Winchester, who was still wondering to himself why he felt such a strong connection with this girl he barely knew.

"That seems like a rather foolhardy idea," Sherlock said monotonously, in response to what Alina had just relayed to everyone. "Let's do it."

"Are you out of your mind, Sherlock?" John asked incredulously. "I know you love a challenge, but this might be over our heads. We don't know anything about magic. Not besides what we know from books, anyway."

"You're not the only ones who don't have a clue what's going on," Amy said lightly. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure? We have a chance to stop something terrible from happening."

"She is right," Arthur announced, addressing everyone. "Morgana is the foulest purveyor of sorcery in all the land. She cannot be allowed to continue her efforts. While I do not condone the use of magic, perhaps it might be necessary to do so in this instance, if only so that we can stop Morgana in her tracks. Gwaine?"

"I'm with you to the end, Arthur," Gwaine said, giving him a cheery nod. Alina's gaze darted from his face to his shoulder, and she grimaced. He wasn't in good shape.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I think?" Merlin asked Arthur pointedly.

"Merlin, since when does your opinion matter? You're coming with me whether you like it or not," Arthur scolded him. "Don't be such a _girl_. No offense, Lady Pond."

"None taken!" Amy said brightly. "In fact, I wouldn't mind if you kept calling me 'Lady Pond'. I rather like that; it's classy."

"If we're going to go, we have to go now," Alina told them. "We all have to be touching the boot at 5:07 exactly. We only have a couple of minutes until then."

"Lead the way," Sherlock said, regarding her with unreadable ice blue eyes. The group followed Alina through the back door, which she was able to access after catching the barkeep's eye and giving him a swift nod.

Dean raised his eyebrows as he surveyed the dingy, tattered boot that lay before them on the ground. "I'm guessing this is it."

"All right, everyone. Get a finger on it; quickly." Alina knelt and placed her hand on the toes of the boot, as everyone jostled themselves to fit around the boot. It would have been a comical sight to passersby: Alina knelt in front of the boot, with Dean crouching over her to reach it. On one side, Gwaine, who had now broken into a cold sweat, leaned on Amy as they each grabbed a shoelace. On the other side, Merlin and John were close but politely spaced apart, with their fingers touching the sides of the boot. And at the heel, Sherlock bent down, touching his index finger to the boot's top edge. His eyes met Alina's as the clock ticked from 5:06 to 5:07.

They were hit with a sensation like someone had hooked a cane around their waists and swept them off their feet. The wind whistled as the world around them turned to a blur of color, and they spun in the air, with their hands glued to the boot by an invisible force.

Most of them were yelling profanities or simply screaming as the wind whipped around their faces. Suddenly, they seemed to stop moving, and instead spun over a single spot.

Alina found that the finger she was touching the boot with could move again. "I think we have to let go here!" she shouted over the howling breeze.

"Let go?! Are you insane?!" Dean growled through gritted teeth. No one had told him this thing was going to lift them up into the air at the speed of a bullet train with far less protection than even an airplane!

"Well, I'm not fully sane, that's for sure," Alina yelled back. "Just let go!" And she did. It felt like she was hurtling through the air, descending rapidly with no control. Near the end, she was able to get her legs under her, and she landed with a roll in a field of slightly crunchy grass.

Exhausted from the whole ordeal, she collapsed onto her back and breathed hard for a moment, watching as the rest of her companions followed her example. Some of them landed more gracefully than others.

Alina stood as everyone peeled themselves up off the ground. Gwaine almost stumbled, but he stood, clenching his teeth in a grim smile.

"Where are we?" John asked, disoriented. "And better yet, how the blazes did we get here?"

"Magic," Amy replied matter-of-factly. "Ooh, this is so exciting!"

Dean was the last to get to his feet, groaning and rubbing his temples. "Not doing that again. Ever."

"Clearly, the boot we touched was enchanted by some sort of spell that mimics the dimensional transporting powers of the TARDIS and moves all who are connected to it at a certain time to another location. More correlations between space and time," Sherlock mused. "Although, I don't believe we have traveled to a different point in time."

"Is that where we're headed, then?" Merlin asked, squinting ahead of them. Not too far away stood a very tall, very oddly shaped building in the middle of a clearing.

"I don't see any other buildings," Alina observed.

"That must be it," Dean said. "Let's go."

"What is that coming towards us?" Arthur asked warily, drawing his sword.

A beam of red light sang through the air and hit Dean square in the chest. He fell flat on his back, out cold. The first was followed by a volley of identical beams that knocked Gwaine and Sherlock to the ground. It took several of them to take down Arthur, who'd had time to wave his sword about madly and somehow deflect some of the extremely rapid jets of light.

"What th—" John barely had enough time to utter two syllables before he had to dodge one of the beams.

"Stop! We're not enemies," Alina called out as loudly as she could.

"We come in peace!" Merlin added, raising his hands in surrender, but keeping his head low.

"In a manner of speaking," Amy muttered, glancing at where Arthur's sword had fallen in the grass beside his now prone figure.

The blasts of red light slowed, and then came to a complete stop. Someone peered out at them from a high window in the unusual building, and then someone else opened the door on the ground level. Two red-haired men who resembled each other, one older and one in his early twenties, emerged from within, each bearing a single stick of wood in one hand, which were pointed at Alina and her companions.

"Who are you, and how did you get past the magical barriers without using magic?" the older man prodded. "Go on, tell me!"

"My name is Alina," Alina began. "Are you Mr. Arthur Weasley?"

He seemed taken aback for a moment and almost lowered his weapon, but the other guy stepped forward, jabbing (what Alina now realized must be) his wand in her general direction.

"The Ministry made no mention of any "Alina" and company coming to the Burrow," he said haughtily. "You're clearly Death Eaters or spies of You-Know-Who!"

"Actually, we 'Don't-Know-Who' you're talking about," John said cautiously.

"Yes, and what exactly do you mean about… Eating death?" Merlin asked, slightly terrified of what that could mean.

"Let me handle this," Alina said quietly, before Amy could exclaim whatever retort was running through her mind. "We need your help," she called to them. "A magical item recently came into our possession, and we were told that you could help us open this bag, which appears to be sealed shut by magical means."

"You're not… Are you Muggles?" Arthur asked, bewildered. " _American_ Muggles?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Father," the other sniffed. "The Dark Lord would never stoop to using non-magical people to do his bidding... Especially not _Americans_."

"Oy, we're not all American," Amy pointed out. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," she added, shrugging her shoulders at Alina.

"Percy, they're wandless and they haven't yet tried to attack us, even though there are four of them still standing and in perfect health." Arthur lowered his wand to his side. "I'll hear you out, but any sudden movements and I won't hesitate to Stun you."

"Understood." Alina gestured to her fallen friends. "Do we have your permission to bring my companions inside? I want to make sure they're okay."

"I suppose that's all right." To Percy's dismay, his father stood aside as John, Amy, Alina and Merlin dragged Arthur, Dean, Gwaine, and Sherlock inside one at a time. "Molly!" Arthur Weasley called inside, up the stairs. "I think you'd better put the kettle on."

* * *

As Alina told their tale, Mr. Weasley was getting rather flustered, and Molly was going back and forth between supporting him and keeping the numerous Weasley children away from the commotion—which was near impossible, considering that a different one popped up every time she shooed one away.

"We're telling the truth, Mr. Weasley," Alina said calmly. "The only thing I can't explain is how we were able to get past your magical barriers. We're all, as you said, 'Muggles'… completely incapable of magic." She paused as Merlin started coughing uncomfortably. When he was done, he waved her on; embarrassed enough—for whatever reason—that the tips of his ears were turning bright red.

"What I do know for certain is that we have information that concerns not only the magical community, but the whole world; and possibly the past, present, and future," Alina continued.

"I still don't believe a word you're saying," Percy huffed, interrupting her. "None of you could possibly have traveled through time without a Time-Turner; and not only are those non-accessible to Muggles, but they've all been recalled and kept under lock and key at the Ministry of Magic—after a certain debacle caused by a particular Hogwarts student this past school term," he added primly.

"It wasn't Hermione's fault! Don't blame her, Perce," a young man's deep though slightly squeaky voice called from the stairs.

"Ronald Weasley!" Molly yelled up at him. "I told you to stay in your room with the door shut!"

"Sorry, Mum," he mumbled. Everyone heard a door close, but Amy smirked, knowing that the kid was probably still listening—after all, it's what she would have done.

"There's more than one way to travel in time and space, you know," she announced, eyeing that Percy kid. "Don't diss the TARDIS."

"A ridiculous name for another imaginary part of your false tale."

John looked up from checking Gwaine's vitals just in time to see a flying object swoop into the room through the fireplace. "What's that?" he asked, startled. It landed promptly in 's hands.

"That must be from the Ministry," Percy said with an air of superiority. "They'll take these ruffians away and Obliviate them."

"Hang on; nobody's 'obliviating' me," Amy told him, placing her hands on her hips.

"Merlin's beard!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, engrossed in his letter.

Alina, Amy, and John glanced at Merlin, who was discreetly feeling at his chin with a concerned look on his face.

"Well, this is some news we've got!" Mr. Weasley continued. "It's from Dumbledore, Molly. He says our visitors are to be trusted as if they were members of the Order themselves. He says they're here to help with our, er, mission we've been working on, and we need to call together an Order meeting—away from here, of course. The kids don't need to know any more than they've surely already heard."

"Oh, that daffy old coot. Nothing good will come of this; I'm certain of that," Percy drawled. "I'm off to pack the rest of my things. I start working at the Ministry soon, you know."

The tension in the room left as soon as Percy did, and Molly beamed at everyone. "Albus is the headmaster of Hogwarts. Doesn't miss a trick, that man!"

"Are you quoting Dad, Mum?" someone called from another room.

"Oh, for—Fred Weasley, I had better not find you listening in the kitchen!"

"I'm not Fred, I'm George!" the same voice called out—or perhaps it was a nearly identical voice.

"Honestly, woman; you call yourself our mother," the other voice said.

"Now who's quoting themselves?" Molly admonished with a rueful smile.

"Well, I am so sorry for the misunderstanding!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "If Dumbledore says we should trust you, then trust you we should. Let me properly introduce myself. I'm Arthur Weasley, and this is my wife, Molly. You've met our son Percy."

"And I hope that's the last we see of him," Amy grumbled under her breath.

"You must think highly of this Dumbledore fellow," Merlin piped up.

"We do indeed, dear," Molly said warmly. "What were all your names?"

"I'm Alina," the older Collins sister said. "This is John, Amy, and Merlin, and, well… they're Dean, Gwaine, Arthur, and Sherlock," she finished, gesturing to the prone figures upon the couch.

"Lovely to meet you," Molly said. "I'm sure you all must be positively starving, after traveling through space and time and whatnot! Oh, and here we are, interrogating you like caged animals. I'll go put the kettle on. Arthur, take care of the gentlemen on the sofa, please. Would anyone like to join me?"

"I'll go!" Amy said, disappearing into the kitchen with Molly.

Mr. Weasley withdrew a stick of wood from his pocket, hesitating. "Your name is Merlin, correct?" he asked the gangly youth.

"Er, yes," Merlin confirmed. "That's me."

Mr. Weasley studied him for one long moment. "Well!" he exclaimed suddenly, startling the poor boy. "Excellent namesake! Your parents must be fans of Arthurian history. Mine certainly were; as you can tell by my own name."

"…Arthurian. Right." Merlin raised his eyebrows at Alina, who smiled.

"And you're a Muggle doctor, right?" Mr. Weasley asked, kneeling beside John. "I can tell by the way you're examining them."

"That's right, I'm a doctor," John said uneasily. "They seem to be stable, but they'll be unconscious for quite a while longer. Gwaine isn't doing well, though."

"Fascinating." He beamed at John for a moment, before remembering the four gentlemen who had been Stupefied. "No worries; I'll have them right as rain." Arthur pointed his wand at Sherlock and said an incantation. _"Rennervate."_

A brilliant spark of red flashed out of the wand's tip, and Sherlock sat up, completely reenergized. "John. I assume we're inside the residence which we were previously approaching?"

"Yes, Sherlock," John said, relieved but slightly unnerved at the sight of magic in action. Mr. Weasley repeated the spell on Gwaine, also speaking another spell to heal his shoulder, and then awakened Dean—who almost swung at him, before Alina explained the situation—but frowned when he got to Arthur.

"This one's giving me a bit of trouble. It's probably because he was hit with multiple Stunning spells—we thought he was the biggest threat, you see."

Dean scowled over at Arthur's unconscious form; failing to see how the pretty-boy king was more imposing than he was.

"Is there nothing you can do for him?" Merlin asked, concerned.

"He'll wake up on his own in an hour or so," Mr. Weasley explained. "I wouldn't worry too much. He seems to be made of strong stuff. In the meantime, will you all join us for lunch? Whatever my wife's cooking smells simply delicious. After the meal, we'll have the meeting with the Order, of course."

"A meal sounds delightful," Gwaine said, stretching and yawning. The color had returned to his cheeks, and his eyes were full of mirth again. "I feel as though I've slept for two days, but I could use some food in my belly. And my shoulder feels good as new! Thank you, good sir."

"You're quite welcome. Oh, he should be fine on his own," Mr. Weasley assured Merlin, who was still standing beside Arthur.

"I'll stay with him, if that's all right," Merlin said. "Don't wait for me. We'll eat later."

"If you're sure," Mr. Weasley said, shrugging. Everyone else trooped into the kitchen; but Sherlock hung back, slipping into a side room where he could still see and hear Merlin.

Once he thought everyone was gone, Merlin exhaled and smiled ruefully at Arthur. "Well, here we are again. You'd better not give me any more trouble, you dollop-head; just wake up, and don't be too put off by the fact that we're in a house full of magic and magical people. Hey… maybe it'll even show you that magic can be a good thing."

He placed one hand on Arthur's heart, and one on his head, closing his eyes. _"Icþe þurh hæleþin licsare,"_ he muttered.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, listening intently from his hiding spot. That was some ancient form of Gaelic or something similar that had been lost to historical memory long ago.

Merlin repeated the incantation several times, practically sweating with the effort. He frowned, seeing that Arthur was still completely unconscious. "Come on, Arthur," he sighed. Merlin tilted his head, wondering if he could use that spell Mr. Weasley had used to awaken the other men. He might as well try. _"Rennervate."_

"WHOA!" Arthur shouted, springing to his feet. "I feel as though I was just dipped into a vat of smelling salts. Merlin, where are we?"

Merlin stood up happily. "You're all right! Er, we're in that big old house we were going towards. I have to explain something—the people who live here did attack you—"

"I knew it," Arthur muttered, reaching for his sword only to find an empty scabbard. "How many are there? I can handle all of them, right here, right now. Wow, I feel as though I've rested for years. How many, Merlin?"

"Let me finish!" Merlin exclaimed. "They only attacked because they thought we were attacking them. Everything's been cleared up, and the others are sharing a meal with the Weasleys now. The only thing is that, well, they have magic; but they're good people, Arthur; and even if they weren't, we're in no position to refuse their hospitality. Besides, there are—" He paused at the sight of two redheaded kids gamboling down the stairs: a boy and a girl, neither older than 14.

Arthur composed himself. "I see. Well, having not met them yet myself, I'll have to rely on your discernment, Merlin. I hope that's not a mistake."

"It won't be; I promise!" Merlin assured him, relieved.

"…Is that… meat pie that I smell?" Arthur asked, lifting his head. Merlin grinned and pulled him along towards the kitchen.

Sherlock slipped out of the alcove he'd found and emerged in the kitchen before Merlin and Arthur got there; his delayed arrival noticed by none except Alina.

"Hey, look! Now we've got Arthur, Arthur, Percy, and Percy, once we meet up with that large knight fellow," Amy quipped as she passed her empty plate, previously piled high with food, to Mrs. Weasley.

"Thank you for the wonderful meal," Arthur said cordially, addressing the Weasleys. "We thank you for your hospitality, despite our incongruous introduction."

"You're most welcome, Arthur, old boy," Mr. Weasley said jovially. "Now that we've all filled our bellies, we'd best call that meeting to order. Molly?"

"All right; Fred and George, you're in charge while we're away. I don't want to come back to any shenanigans; do you hear me?"

"Clear as crystal, Mum," Fred answered with the most innocent of glances at his twin brother.

"Your father and I will be attending this meeting, and we don't know how long it will take. So I want you to make sure that Ronald and Ginny are in bed on time," Molly continued.

"Mum, we're not children," Ginny spoke up. Her gaze darted towards a completely oblivious Merlin, and she blushed. "No need to treat us like we are."

"Your mother's right," Arthur Weasley agreed. "You kids need your rest so you can be ready to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow morning. Off you pop."

The four Weasley children excused themselves from the table and headed upstairs; some less enthusiastically than others. Percy had declined to join the large group for dinner, and was likely already in his bedroom.

"Ready to go?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Go? I thought we'd be doing this here," John admitted, confused. "Where exactly will we be going?"

"Clearly, it would be impractical to hold a meeting of the utmost importance and secrecy in the home of a civilian family, however involved with said issue they may be," Sherlock pointed out. "We will be relocating to a neutral territory, most likely located in a place central to the residences of all the parties involved."

"How many more people do you think we'll be meeting?" Dean asked, curious.

"We're ready," Alina interjected, answering Mr. Weasley's original question.

"Right!" He clapped his hands together, rubbing them enthusiastically. "I suppose we'll have to use a Portkey to get outside of—well, headquarters, and then we'll have to ask that all of you be blindfolded as you enter. Safety precautions, you see."

"Sure, safe for you, maybe," Dean grumbled. Alina raised her eyebrows and addressed the Weasleys. "We'll do as you see fit, of course."

"I'll prepare the Portkey," Molly said. "Arthur, I'm sure everyone knows thanks to Dumbledore; but would you send a Patronus message as well?"

"On it, my dear."

Mrs. Weasley bustled around to find something large enough for everyone to grab onto, and Mr. Weasley held his wand up. Dean and Arthur instinctively took a step back.

 _"Expecto Patronum,"_ Mr. Weasley enunciated. A silvery white light sprang from his wand and took the shape of a weasel that glowed and shone with every airy movement it made. "Meeting at headquarters. Urgent Order business. All available members needed." When he was done talking, the weasel sped off, darting through the window and out into the night.

Merlin and John were still gazing after it in awe, and Amy was grinning. "Here we are," Molly announced. "This broomstick should do nicely. I've already performed the Portus charm—come on, everyone put a hand on." They followed her instructions and were soon whisked away to yet another place they knew nothing about.

* * *

"Too much… Too many words," Chuck muttered as his eyes darted back and forth, drinking in the manuscript he'd banged out without thinking twice about it. "So much dialogue. Repeating themselves, over and over, nothing truly important yet. Repeating. Reiterating. Regenerating. …Regenerating!" Chuck's eyes widened. "And turning in time. Finally, moving forward. Not in a strict linear progression of cause to effect." He groaned and massaged his temples with his fingers. "Timey-wimey."


	10. Chapter 10

[ **A/N:** Happy New Year! It'll probably be a bit of a while before the next update, unless I can bang out the details of the next chapter before school starts up again. Things are about to get pretty exciting! Thanks for reading and reviewing!]

* * *

"We're here," Sam said quietly as the Impala rolled to a stop. They were parked across the street from the Dakota Discovery Museum.

"So, we're just supposed to take it, whatever it is?" Rory asked. "Just like that?"

"I like to think of it as 'long-term-borrowing'," the Doctor enunciated. "We're going to put it back after we're done with it. In fact, I can use the TARDIS to take it back to only a few moments after we snagged it—once she's back to normal, that is."

"We don't know for certain that we can return it," Tracy reminded him. "It's possible we might have to destroy it in order to stop Morgana from using it."

"Whatever the case, we need to go get it," Sam said. "We can't all go in; that would draw too much suspicion. Doctor, you have your detector device, right?"

"Indeed I do!" He flipped his sonic screwdriver, fumbled for a moment, but caught it.

"Then you should be one of the retrieving members. Tracy and I will go, too. Percival and Rory, stay out here as backup. Rory, text us if you see anything strange, and we'll text you if there are any problems inside." They briefly exchanged phone numbers.

"All right. Well, don't die, or anything," Rory told them. Tracy saluted with two fingers as she, Sam, and the Doctor headed inside.

"…Well. Just you and me again, Jeff," Rory said awkwardly.

Percival raised his eyebrows. "You're going to keep calling me that, aren't you," he said.

"Sorry."

* * *

As they entered the museum, the Doctor subtly modified some settings on his screwdriver so that it would flash silently when they found the relic, instead of emitting its usual whirring noise. Tracy picked up a directory, and she and Sam studied it together. She tried not to be distracted by how closely he was peering over her shoulder.

"Seems like pretty standard fare. The only thing that seems to be out of the ordinary is the Egyptian exhibit on loan from the Museum of Natural History. Maybe we should start there?" Sam suggested.

"Sounds good." Tracy paid for three general admission tickets; striking up a brief friendly conversation with the receptionist for the sake of trying to appear normal. Then, the threesome meandered in the direction of the Egyptian exhibit, pausing often enough that it looked like they were actually checking out every exhibit.

"Anything yet?" Sam asked the Doctor, who was twirling his orange-lit screwdriver in his fingers.

"Not quite," the Doctor replied, fumbling slightly but catching the tool before he dropped it. "But we're getting closer; I can feel it!"

They reached the Egyptian exhibit, and Tracy raised her eyebrows, impressed. She would have loved to have a real look around, if they had the time. She inspected a sarcophagus while Sam perused an interactive display.

"This is it," the Doctor said, beckoning them over. Sam and Tracy joined him in front of a glass case that contained a single slipper; most likely made of wood or some sort of leather. It had seen some wear, but for the most part, it was intact. Colorful designs and beadwork embellished the straps.

"'Rhodopis' Slipper'", Sam read aloud from the plaque in front of the glass case. "Believed to be the earliest known variant of the well-known Cinderella fairy tale, the story of Rhodopis depicts a young Greek courtesan who ends up marrying the Egyptian ruler named Psammetichus. This artifact may or may not have belonged to the real Rhodopis herself. Regardless, it is an excellent example of the kind of footwear used by young women between the regions of Greece and Egypt during that era."

"They sell replicas of this thing in the gift shop. I noticed them on our way in," Tracy whispered. "We can buy one from there and swap it with the real one. That way, it's less 'stealing', really; since we're paying for it. If we do this the right way, they shouldn't notice for a while. I doubt they often take the exhibit items out of their cases for no reason."

"I'll follow your lead," Sam offered. "Doctor, can that thing turn off security and alarms?"

"I believe that would be setting 394," the Doctor said, furrowing his brow as he fiddled with the buttons on the side of the screwdriver. "There we are! We'll have to work quickly, though. I'm sure they'll notice sooner or later once the cameras and alarms in this room have all gone dead at once. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"I'll go buy a slipper. You two should check out some of the other exhibits, so you're not drawing attention to yourselves by lingering in here. I'll meet you in the dinosaur hall," Tracy decided. With that, she was off to the gift shop.

"Guess I'll check up on Rory," Sam said, shrugging. He tapped a few things on his phone as he and the Doctor went on towards the next room.

Everything okay? He typed. It wasn't long before the reply beeped in.

Ah- yes. I think. Well, actually, Je- er, Percival needed to stretch his legs, and when he got out of the car, he bumped into another car and set off the alarm. Now people are staring at us.

Crap. All right, on my way, Sam hurriedly responded. "They're having car issues," he explained to the Doctor. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"No problemo," the Doctor acknowledged him with a nod. Sam passed the receptionist on his way out, holding up his car keys embarrassingly.

"My fault," he said, chuckling awkwardly. She smiled in understanding as he went outside. Sam crossed to where the Impala was parked beside a mildly confused Percival and a red-faced Rory.

"My apologies," Percival said, glancing at the nearby car he'd bumped into.

"Happens to everyone," Sam said a little resentfully. The last thing they needed was more people taking notice of them. He quickly scanned the surrounding area. Luckily, no one was near enough to see what he was about to do. Sam picked up a rock and smashed in the car's window, then pulled some wires in order to cut the alarm.

"We have to move," Sam told them. They piled back into the Impala, and Sam drove it to the opposite side of the museum, choosing to park even farther away from the building, half-hidden by the trees. "Stretch all you want," Sam said, addressing Percival as they got out once more. "I've got to rendezvous with Tracy and the Doctor if we're gonna get this done."

"You're not going anywhere," an unfamiliar voice snarled at him. Startled, Sam immediately went for his weapon, forgetting that he'd disarmed himself so he wouldn't set off the museum's security system. Sam clenched his jaw as the man in front of them grinned. The stranger's eyes turned black as four more demons emerged from the trees.

"Rory, get the trunk," Sam barked, bracing himself as the first assailant made his charge. Rory dove back into the car, pressing the button that released the trunk. Percival was nearest to it, and by sheer luck, he grabbed two of the long knives engraved with traps and symbols. He tossed one to Sam, who caught it one-handed in mid-grapple with his opponent.

Rory jumped back out of the car and stared for a split-second. Two badguys were going after each of his companions, and that left one coming for him. He darted over to the trunk and grabbed the first thing his hands closed around.

"Please work!" he shouted, brandishing it at the approaching attacker. Rory faltered, realizing that he had grabbed a flask, of all things. But the cap flew off, and some of the liquid inside splashed onto the badguy, who howled as though he'd been hit by acid. "Huh. That's lucky," Rory said aloud. "I hope Tracy and the Doctor's plan is working..."

* * *

Tracy found the Doctor examining a life-size replica of a T-Rex. "Where's Sam?" she inquired, glancing around to see if she'd somehow missed the 6'4" hunter. "Head-to-arm ratio isn't quite right," the Doctor was saying to himself. "Oh! Tracy. The boys had a bit of car trouble, so I suppose this bit is left to us. We'll be just fine." He led the way back to the Egyptian exhibit, and sonic-ed the doors shut behind them. "How long do we have before they notice anything?" Tracy asked. "I made a big deal about the Gems and Geodes section on the opposite side of the building while I was shopping, so most of the patrons headed that way to check it out. It'll be a good ten minutes before anyone comes back this way."

"For the security, I'd estimate five minutes, at most. Should be plenty of time." He held up his sonic and pressed a button. Instantly, the security camera in the corner sparked, and the operating light flicked off. Next, the Doctor used his screwdriver, which was now glowing an intense shade of green, on the slipper's display case. He easily lifted the glass away and set it carefully down on the nearest shelf.

Tracy took the fake slipper out of her shopping bag and removed the wrapping paper without ripping it. She gingerly lifted the real one from its perch and enclosed it safely in the gift shop's wrappings so precisely that the tape was even lined up and secured in its original spot. The wrapped slipper went into Tracy's shopping bag, and she placed the fake one in the exhibit case. Luckily for them, the gift shop's slippers were designed to look like the real one, with the same amount of wear and tear and identical embellishments.

The Doctor replaced the glass casing and used his screwdriver to turn the alarm for the slipper back on. "Looks good as new," he marveled, appreciating the skill with which Tracy had displayed the fake slipper. It really did look almost exactly like the real one.

They moved away from the case, towards the doors at the front of the room, but footsteps echoed from the hall on the other side of the exhibit.

"We forgot about the other doors," Tracy hissed worriedly. "They're going to suspect something if they find us in here—or even anywhere near here—with the camera still down!" Her mind went blank. She couldn't assess the situation to find a solution; not with a heart full of panic and a stolen relic in her hands.

The Doctor unlocked the set of doors they'd reached with a wave of his screwdriver. "Not to worry," he said jovially. "Follow my lead." He swept Tracy into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

Tracy was too surprised to push him away, and somewhere mid-kiss, she realized what his plan was. A security guard entered from the opposite end of the room and clicked his flashlight at them.

"All right, you two, move along," he said good-naturedly. "Just because a camera's down, doesn't mean you get the room to yourselves."

Tracy and the Doctor drew apart. "Sorry," Tracy mumbled; a genuine flush on her cheeks.

"Apologies," the Doctor echoed, smiling ruefully. "History and romance, and all that. I'm sure you understand."

The guard waved them on, and they exited the exhibit, finally heading towards the museum entrance.

The Doctor seemed to have already forgotten that they'd just been liplocked for a good thirty seconds, but Tracy cleared her throat, embarrassed.

"That was a bit more, uh... Tongue-y than anything I would have come up with, but it worked," she said, still adjusting to the fact that some of the Doctor's saliva was still inside of her own mouth.

"Thinking on your feet is the most fun way to think," the Doctor said, straightening his bowtie. As they passed the front desk, the receptionist glanced up.

"Receipt?" she asked, gesturing to Tracy's bag.

"Oh. Of course," Tracy said cheerily. She brought out the gift shop receipt and held it up, and the receptionist nodded.

"Sorry, it's just a routine thing," she explained. "Good choice! I love the Rhodopis story."

"Me too! It's fascinating. Have a good one," Tracy told her, waving in tandem with the Doctor. At long last, they made it outside. Tracy immediately noticed that the Impala wasn't where they'd left it.

"Did Sam tell you he was moving the car?" she asked, dreading the worst.

"He didn't say that exactly, but perhaps he had to. Here, I think the old sonic can still pick up Percival's timey energy." The Doctor flipped a switch, and then the two of them ran in the direction it led them.

Tracy was shocked to see Sam, Percival, and Rory finishing up a skirmish with some dark-eyed assailants.

"Tracy!" Sam called out after stabbing the last of them. "Do you have the relic?"

"Got it right here." She held up the bag, and Sam nodded.

"We've got to get out of here. No telling how many more of their friends will show up." He and Percival dragged the bodies into a ditch hidden by the trees, and the Doctor frowned, turning to Rory.

"Roranicus! Anything broken? Everything all right?"

Rory was slightly pale, and he had a small cut on his lip and a couple of bruises, but he was otherwise unharmed. "Fine. Let's go."

Everyone piled in, and almost as soon as they were off, Tracy felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. She reached her right hand across to grab it. "Hello?"

"We need you here as quickly as possible," Alina told her, cutting straight to the chase. "All of you. We may finally have some answers. More questions, too, of course."

"And we may finally have one of the relics," Tracy replied, glancing at the package she held in her left hand. "How do we get there?"

"One of the wizards we've met will—er—Apparate to you with a Portkey, which will transport you all here."

Tracy was quiet for a moment. She glanced at Sam, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. The Doctor was rubbing his hands together gleefully, and Percival and Rory were listening attentively to the conversation. Sam nodded."Whatever works."

Tracy frowned. "You're bleeding."

"I'm what?" Alina asked, confused.

"Not you. Sam," Tracy said, balancing the slipper on her lap and reaching out impulsively to inspect the gash on Sam's temple.

"It's nothing," Sam assured her, feeling a twist in his stomach as her hand touched his face. "I'll take care of it later."

"Anyway, let me know when you get somewhere relatively safe, and we'll go from there," Alina continued. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Sounds good." Tracy hung up and placed both hands over the bag that contained Rhodopis' slipper, There was no limit to the potential kinds of magical energy that it might contain, and that was more than slightly unnerving.


	11. Chapter 11

[ **A/N:** Chapter 11 is up! Hope you like it-there won't be another one for a while. Hurray for plot advancement and splitting into smaller groups of characters to juggle!]

* * *

Alina sighed, staring up at the unassuming collection of apartments—er, flats—that loomed before them as she got off the phone. "That was my sister, Tracy," she announced to the group. "She and her team have retrieved one of the relics and now they're just trying to figure out a way to get here."

"To the Order headquarters? They won't be able to find it on their own, dear," Molly told her.

"Yeah, I was hoping you might be able to help with that," Alina admitted. "I told her someone would Apparate or Portkey them here, but I'm not really sure what's the fastest method among Wizards. Is there any way we can summon them here or something?"

"For that matter, are you going to tell us what exactly this is headquarters for?" Dean muttered.

"All in due time," Mr. Weasley assured him. "And we'll get the rest of your team here as soon as possible. Now, if you don't mind..."

The Weasleys cast some sort of magical spell that drew a dark veil across Alina and her companions' eyes. There was a tapping and a rumbling sound, and soon they were led forward into a building.

"Watch your step, loves," Molly said, helping Alina over the threshold with a hand. Dean tripped on something large and stump-like near the door and let out an inventive string of swear words as he regained his balance. They approached a quiet hum of voices, which died out and fell silent as, Alina deduced, she and her friends reached the room that all of the people were gathered inside of.

"Here we are." Their blindfolds were removed, and it took a couple of seconds to adjust to the light in the room. Before them sat three unfamiliar men, all along one side of a rectangular kitchen table.

Mr. Weasley beamed and spread his arms. "Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix. This is Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, and my eldest, Bill. As you can see, we're spread a bit thin these days—but according to Dumbledore, you all are as good as Order members, anyway."

A handsome but tired-looking middle-aged man stood and shook everyone's hand politely. "We are grateful to have some assistance in these dark times," he said calmly.

Bill waved in a friendly manner from his seat. "Pleasure to meet you all." He had long red hair tied back into a ponytail, and a fang earring dangling from one ear. "We'll get this all sorted out."

The last Order member, Severus Snape, was a sallow-faced man with a hookish nose and black hair that almost seemed as though it would be greasy to the touch. He merely surveyed everyone before him with a hint of a sneer.

"We're glad to be working with people who know something about what's going on," Alina said candidly. "I'm Alina Collins. This is Dean Winchester, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Amy Pond, Arthur, Gwaine, and Merlin." The men and Amy either nodded a greeting, or, in Dean and Sherlock's cases, gave a half-frown and a raise of the eyebrows.

"I suppose the first matter of business would be this." She brought forward the bag that they had retrieved from the fight in the alley. "We have no way of opening it."

"Let's have a look." Remus placed the bag onto the table and took out his wand, waving it thoughtfully around in different patterns. Sparks of light erupted whenever the wand came too close to the bag. Beads of sweat began to roll down Remus's forehead. "Unfortunately, it may take us some time to figure out how to get this bag open. Some heavy enchantments have been placed on it."

"However, we can already take a guess at what might be inside," Severus said, speaking up for the first time. He had a drawling, disinterested sort of voice. "It is an item of immense magical power that can be devastating in the wrong hands."

"We should wait to cross-examine information until we have everyone present," Sherlock interjected. Dean resisted chuckling—to him, at least, both pale, dark-haired British jerkholes sounded almost exactly the same.

"We don't already have everyone?" Remus asked, looking to Molly.

"Oh, that's right! Alina's sister and the rest of her companions are in America. They've found one of the time energy-imbued relics."

"Leave it to me," Bill assured them. He strolled outside, and in less than a minute, he walked back in, followed by Tracy, Sam, the Doctor, and a very disoriented-looking Rory and Percival. "I've parked their car alongside of the flat. '67 Chevy Impala? Very nice," Bill noted as he sat down. Dean let out a breath of relief, knowing that he'd soon be reunited with his car.

"How did you all get here so fast?!" John exclaimed.

"Don't ask," Rory groaned, massaging his temples.

* * *

"So there's a magical item that allows you to travel back in time," the Doctor mused, once Alina's companions and the Order members had exchanged most of their knowledge. "Fascinating! And you say it's the only one?"

"The only one left," Remus replied. "All other Time-Turners were recalled and locked away at the Ministry of Magic after a certain… er… incident this previous school term at Hogwarts."

"Yes… incident," Severus enunciated with a hint of sarcasm.

"This last Time-Turner was on its way to the Ministry when the shipment was intercepted. It's unknown by whom, but now it appears to be in the possession of this growing Morgana Le Fay following. They are somehow harnessing its power to aid in her conquest. This particular Time-Turner is one of thirteen items—also known as relics—which, when combined, are the key to Morgana accessing her full power and control of the world," Bill added. "Through recon and research, we've been able to discover what each of these relics are, and most of their general locations. Bear in mind that these relics are spread across the world, not just across London."

"The first four are each connected to European history and legend," Remus continued. "They are Orpheus's harp, the Red Shoes, Excalibur, and the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. These items are already immensely magical items on their own. Combined, they contain a great amount of magical essences. Three of them are somewhere in London, but Excalibur is somewhere near Loch Arthur in Scotland."

Bill nodded along with Remus and chimed in. "Four of the items are located in America. One of them, Rhodopis' Slipper, has been acquired, thanks to Tracy and her group. The others are Johnny Appleseed's powder horn, John Henry's 20-pound hammer, and a very unique gun known as the Colt."

Sam and Dean both jumped a little in their seats and shared a look. "We're pretty familiar with that last one," Sam explained to those who glanced at them curiously.

"Anyone with an ounce of culture will know of the ninth relic: a certain Van Gogh painting titled 'The Starry Night'," Snape drawled. "It is currently on display at the Louvre in Paris."

Amy, Rory, and the Doctor exchanged a brief glance.

"The final three relics remain a mystery. We are doing our best to identify and locate them. None of these will be particularly easy to find or procure," Lupin warned. "But we need to get to them before the demons and Death Eaters do. We of the Order have been crafting a spell that will deactivate, so to speak, whatever specific magical qualities Morgana needs for her purposes."

"Unfortunately, it's possible that she may still be able to wreak havoc with only half of these items in her possession," Bill told them. "So time is of the essence."

"Everything is starting to make a little more sense," Amy said thoughtfully. "All of the different pieces of the puzzle are filling themselves in."

Lupin nodded. "Now that we've all shared what we know, I suggest we waste no time in searching for and neutralizing the relics."

"Finally, we're getting somewhere," Sherlock muttered. "Took long enough. Nearly 11 chapters."

"Wait, wait. Let me get this straight. We only need to find these items and deactivate their magical capabilities, right? We don't need to actually collect them all, like Pokemon cards," Dean interjected.

"That's right," Bill told him. "Obviously the main goal is to keep them out of Morgana's hands; and they'll be useless to her without the power she needs them for—we'll call it "time energy." Besides, it might be rather difficult to take some of these items from their current homes—I have to admit, I'm surprised the slipper was recovered with such ease. Morgana may have no sense of morality, but we want as little attention as possible from both the Muggle law force and the Ministry of Magic. Things can get messy if we draw too much awareness to ourselves."

"When we find these items, what must we do to eliminate the time energy within them?" Arthur asked. "I doubt it's as simple as destroying the objects."

"Obviously," Severus said, rolling his eyes. "That's why we have crafted these wands through an extremely difficult, highly experimental branch of magic and arcanum." He held up four unassuming silver sticks, each about twelve inches long. "Theoretically, one of these wands needs only to make direct contact with a relic, and, theoretically, there will be a bright flash of light and the sound of glass shattering. That is how you know the time energy has been neutralized. It should cause no cosmetic damage to the relics. However, they can only be used by non-magical individuals."

"You said "theoretically" twice. You mean, you haven't tested them?" Sam asked.

"Until very recently, we haven't had any trustworthy Muggles to work with, nor any relics to test the wands on, have we?" Severus deadpanned. He held one out to Tracy, who accepted it cautiously.

"If you can do the honors?" Remus asked, encouraging her. Tracy went over to where the slipper was perched atop the kitchen table. After a moment's hesitation, there was a quick flash, as though someone had taken a photograph. It was accompanied by a shattering sound, which made Molly glance at the glassware reflexively.

"Seems like it worked," Bill said, impressed. "That's comforting. We'll keep the slipper here for the time being; to see if we can learn more about it. As for the wands, in addition to neutralizing time energy, they sort of home in on the direction of the nearest relic. We'll give you all the locations of the ones we know of so far."

"I'm going to go return to the questions and answers. How will we possibly traverse the globe to retrieve such things before the enemy can get to them?" Gwaine asked. Beside him, Merlin shrugged awkwardly.

"What about that spaceship of yours?" John asked the Doctor. "Can't we just all pile in and be transported to each item?"

"Unfortunately, she's still rather tetchy, after her controls were fiddled with and she shorted out," the Doctor told him, glancing surreptitiously at Sherlock. "She'll be down for at least two more days. I'm not sure if we have enough time to wait that long."

"Couldn't we wait until then and then travel backwards in time to get them? On that note, we could prevent a lot of this from happening, if not all of it," Sam pointed out.

"Ah. See, I can't cross into my own timeline; and there are also events that are known as 'fixed points' in time. No matter how they're meddled with, the end result is the same. Sometimes worse. It's best to leave them as is. For example, King Arthur and his fellows getting sent to our time is a fixed point."

Dean squared his shoulders. "Whatever. It's better this way; I'd rather not whirl through time and space, anyway."

"We can provide other methods of transportation," Remus assured them. "That won't be an issue."

"Since we can't all go together, we should definitely split into smaller teams. That will give us a better chance at finding more relics more quickly," Tracy said decidedly.

"I believe you are all trustworthy people, but I would still feel more comfortable with non-magical 'teammates'." Arthur said cautiously.

"You and me both." Dean muttered.

"Of course, I would prefer to work with my knights; but I realize that talents and strengths must be evenly doled out. Each team would benefit with one of us there for protection," Arthur reasoned. "Not all of you are trained for combat. And we will each need to travel with someone who is familiar with this land."

"Merlin and I could team up with you two, if magic bothers you boys all that much," Alina suggested. "You clearly know Merlin very well, and I've learned a lot about the wizarding world in the past day or so. Dean knows pretty much everything there is to know about the supernatural side of things, and I do have some expertise there as well. I'm no fighter, but I can handle myself in a skirmish and I have a good sense of direction and a geographical knowledge of London. We'd all pair well together, I think."

Dean refrained from wincing. Despite the fact that he and Arthur agreed on the matter of preferring not to be around too much magic, the last thing he wanted was to end up on a team with the so-called "king".

Arthur nodded, satisfied with that arrangement. "I'm glad we will be working together. A number of honorable, non-magical comrades is all I could ask for." Merlin had another little coughing fit. When Sam asked him if he was okay, Merlin just waved him off.

"I suppose I'll go with Sherlock." John said, after a moment.

"You'll probably need someone with a magical skill set in your group," Bill pointed out. "I'll go along with you."

"And I'll provide the muscle! You seem like you've a good head on your shoulders, Bill. You're all right with me." Gwaine followed Bill and thumped him heartily on the back.

"Of course I'm going with you, Doctor," Amy said, elbowing him with a grin. "And I'm perfectly fine with magical people! Oi, cloak man, professor dude, wanna give us a go?"

"I suppose so," Remus said, smiling ruefully at her name for him. "By cloak man, I'm assuming you're referring to my dear old comrade Severus?"

"Obviously. However, due to the school term beginning very soon, I cannot shirk my duties as a Hogwarts professor. I will not be joining this crusade," Severus said languidly.

"I guess that leaves me and Tracy." Sam shrugged, secretly pleased.

"I will join you." Percival stepped forward and rested a hand on Tracy's shoulder for a moment. "You must be kept safe from harm, my lady."

Sam bit his tongue instead of blurting out that he was perfectly capable of protecting Tracy. After all, the knight was just trying to be helpful; and Sam appreciated having a powerhouse on his team.

"And, of course, we have to deal with matters at home and other Order business," Molly told them, meaning herself and Arthur Weasley. "We'll try to discover what the remaining relics are while you're away. If you need home base assistance, we're here to help you."

"Well, now that everyone's been 'paired up'," Sherlock began in a dry tone of voice.

"Thank you, Sherlock, that will be all," Alina said loudly. To everyone's surprise, he stopped talking. "This is dangerous business. We know what we're up against, and we know we're as prepared as we can be. We also know that absolutely none of this will be easy; but we've got some strong teams and we've got panache."

"Which relics will we each be going after?" John inquired.

Alina thought about it for a second. "Since we have four teams, we should start by looking for the first four relics that are located in or near London. John, you and Sherlock's team should search for Orpheus's harp, and my group can go after Gryffindor's sword. The Doctor and his crew will look into the Starry Night painting in Paris, and Tracy and Sam, you and yours will need to find the Red Shoes. We'll each check in via sonic message, wand message, or cell phone if all goes well, and then we'll plan from there."

"And if all doesn't go well?" Merlin asked hesitantly.

"Then we fight," Bill said solemnly.

"All right, then. We're going on an adventure!" Amy crowed. "Go, teams, or something like that."

"We know that the painting is at the Louvre, and Godric Gryffindor's sword is at Hogwarts. The school is Unplottable, but I'm sure Dumbledore will have made arrangements for the group inquiring after the sword—Alina's foursome, right?" Bill asked, as Alina nodded in confirmation. "We have reason to believe that Orpheus's Harp is in an underground vault at Gringotts, and as for the Red Shoes, they should be somewhere in the Royal Opera House. Again; those wands will help lead you to the relics themselves," he went on.

Remus distributed one silver wand to each team, except for Tracy's, since she was already holding one.

"Wait!"

Everyone turned to look at Tracy. "Aren't you all forgetting someone?" she asked.

"Thanks, guys," Rory said flatly. There were one or two mumbled apologies as everyone else realized he hadn't been picked for a group.

"We've already got four," Dean said, trying to ensure that no one else joined his crew that was already one Arthur too full.

"That's all right; we've got an uneven amount. We'll take him." Sam said.

"Well, don't fracture anything jumping for joy," Rory muttered.

"Rory, you'll be a vital part of this team," Tracy started, elbowing Sam in the ribs. "You're a time-traveler, for crying out loud! I'm sure you've seen and done things that we couldn't even think of."

"Not to mention, you have medical experience that could come in handy as well," Sam added encouragingly.

Looking slightly embarrassed and somewhat pleased, Rory joined Sam, Percival and Tracy.

"Now that the Fellowship of the Ring has been chosen," Sherlock began again. Alina raised her eyebrows, but her mouth was turned up slightly. Sherlock's eyes twinkled as he refrained from finishing his sentence. The entire large group was finally ready to depart.

* * *

"I've received these on loan from Hogwarts, courtesy of Dumbledore," Remus said, gesturing towards three elegant, skeletal, winged horses that clip-clopped forward out of the shadows and into the wan crescent moon's evening light. All were black in color and seemed rather calm. "As you can see, Dumbledore thinks of everything. They should bear us easily to Paris—I'm assuming you can both see them."

"Of course we can see them," Amy scoffed. "They're standing right in front of us. Why wouldn't we be able to?"

"Because only those who have seen death can see thestrals," the Doctor said quietly. "Well, then!" He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Up, up, and away! How do you board one of these things?"

"First I need to cast an Invisibility spell. It should extend to all three of us as well as our thestrals, and it'll keep Muggles from staring up at the sky in disbelief, even though it is getting rather dark out," Remus said with a slight smile. He and Severus raised their wands and performed an incantation that rendered them invisible to anyone who wasn't a part of the entire group of relic-seekers. The Doctor, Amy, and Remus each mounted a steed and flew off into the air.

Bill summoned four broomsticks with his wand. "Let's go," he said, passing them out. John's eyes widened as he was handed a broom.

"You don't—er, that is to say, are we actually going to be flying on these?" he asked nervously.

"Of course we are. I'd say it's the best way to get around the city—I prefer it over Floo powder and Portkeys. It's certainly a step up from the Knight Bus." He tapped each of his companions on the shoulder with his wand. "This is a Disillusionment Charm. Allows you to blend into your surroundings. I've cast it in a special manner, to where it'll wear off as soon as we land."

"I feel as though someone's just cracked an egg over my head," Gwaine marveled, swinging a leg over his broomstick as though it were a horse.

"Yes, that's normal," Bill affirmed. "This way!" He kicked off, followed closely by Gwaine, who seemed as though he had been riding brooms all his life.

"How exactly are we supposed to do that?!" John exclaimed, exasperated.

"Come, now, John. It's really not that complicated," Sherlock said calmly as he drifted into the air, directly following the other two. After a shaky start, John trailed after them, his broom bucking slightly as it rose.

Dean shook his head, watching them fade into the sky. "Glad I don't have to deal with that. Ready to go, Alina?"

She nodded. "Let's do this." Alina got into the Impala on the passenger's side, leaving Arthur and Merlin to sit together in the back seat.

"I missed you, baby," Dean said fondly as he opened the driver's side door. "Hey… Wait a minute! When did this happen?!" he exclaimed, running his finger along a sizeable scratch that ran along the side of the car's hood. "I can't leave you alone for a few damn days without someone treating you all wrong," Dean muttered. He got into the car and revved the engine, driving off with a little more attitude than he'd had before seeing the scratch.

Sam glanced at Tracy, and they silently agreed never to tell Dean that the TARDIS had been guilty of scratching the Impala's hood.

"Well… It's just us now," Rory pointed out awkwardly, gesturing to himself, Tracy, Sam, and Percival. "The almost invisible horses of death, magical flying broomsticks, and retro five-seater are all taken. How exactly are we going to travel around London?"

Tracy patted her empty back pocket worriedly as Sam pulled out his wallet, leafing through the sparse amount of British currency inside. Percival watched them with his eyebrows raised.

"Ah. Bus?" Rory asked.

"Bus," Tracy and Sam answered together.


End file.
